


Let Me Be Your Shelter

by genevra1676



Series: Brother [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Age Swap, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caring Sam Winchester, Drug Withdrawal, Eventual Romance & Smut in the Next Story, Forced Prostitution, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, M/M, No Romance, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Dean Winchester, POV First Person, POV Sam Winchester, Physical Abuse, Protective Sam Winchester, Rape, Rape Recovery, Younger Dean Winchester/Older Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevra1676/pseuds/genevra1676
Summary: Sam has been searching for his little brother Dean for ten long years, ever since John took him away on the night of Sam's eighteenth birthday.  Now that Dean is safe with him again, the two must deal with the aftermath from a decade of abuse, relearn how to be brothers again after the long separation, and navigate through their evolving relationship . . .
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Brother [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017091
Comments: 76
Kudos: 224





	1. Ramblers in the Wilderness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story idea that was kicking around in my head for a while and that I started working on when I was blocked on the main story I've been trying to write. The setting is an AU in which Sam is the older brother (he is 28 and Dean is 24) and most of the canon story line never occurred. It's also set in the present day, as opposed to matching up to the canon timeline for the characters' ages, however there are the A/B/O dynamics and some other changes that make this world different from what we're familiar with.
> 
> The title of this story is from the song "Brother" by NEEDTOBREATHE. At some point, probably closer to the end of the story, I'd like to add lyrics as the chapter titles as well.
> 
> Please note that the only "onscreen" depiction of rape occurs in this chapter and is short and non-graphic. If you'd like to avoid it, skip the two paragraphs after when the FBI agents kick in the door to John's motel room. There will be discussions of the abuse Dean suffered in later chapters, but they'll generally be for medical, legal, or therapeutic purposes and will be warned for in the notes at the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> Standard disclaimer: The words in this story are mine, but the setting and characters belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, et al.

“Sam, it’s Garth. I found ‘em—they’re at the Bel-Air Motel in Okmulgee, Oklahoma, ‘bout an hour south of the Tulsa Airport. Your old man checked in there a coupla hours ago. I just emailed you the pictures I took for confirmation.”

I put the phone on speaker and clicked on the message, then took a deep breath before opening the attachment. The first image was of John’s ridiculously over-compensating pickup parked outside a seedy two-story motel. The next few shots were of him getting out of the truck and pulling a duffel bag from the back. He was a little leaner and grayer and his hair and beard a little shorter but otherwise looked much the same as in the last set of pictures I’d received of him. The last couple photos were of him dragging someone else from the truck and into the motel room, but all that could be made out of the other person was long, tangled tawny hair and the pale, freckled skin of their bare shoulder and back.

“That’s definitely my father. As for the other—the coloring looks right, but it still could be anyone. I’ve had people come to me with false leads before—John’s a damn tricky bastard. Do you have proof this is my brother?” I asked.

“I hear ya, and yeah, I do. John ordered pizza a little while back, and I waylaid the delivery guy and gave him forty bucks to lemme borrow his uniform. I took the pie to the door myself and managed to get a look inside the room while John was getting the money. He had Dean chained to the radiator by the window—I recognized him from the pic you gave me.” Garth paused for a moment. “I hope you can get here quick . . . the kid didn’t look in good shape.”

“I can be there in a few hours. I need you to keep an eye on them and do whatever you can to keep John from taking Dean anywhere. I’ll call you when I’m close. Thanks, man.” I hung up and closed my eyes, trying to remain calm.

Ten years. Ten years since I’d last seen my little brother in anything other than grainy photographs taken by hunter friends or private investigators. Ten years since the morning of my eighteenth birthday when I’d woken up to find both of them gone, with the Stanford acceptance letter I’d thought was well-hidden displayed on the dinette table as a mocking farewell gesture. Ten years of searching, of red herrings and dead-end trails, of false hope and thwarted dreams.

I quickly got up, left my office, and went to my executive assistant’s desk. “Madison, please book me on the first flight to Tulsa immediately—do whatever it takes to get me on that plane. Use my personal card, not the company account.”

Her eyes widened. “Does that mean . . . ? Oh Sam, I hope you find him this time!”

“I hope so too. Don’t worry about a return flight though—I won’t subject Dean to one of those shitty omega compartments, so we’ll drive back. Get me a rental car at the airport and a hotel room in the city—somewhere omega-friendly, of course. I’ll also need an appointment within the next day or two with the best omega-rights attorney there—again, pull whatever strings you have to so that I’m on his or her schedule as soon as possible,” I ordered briskly.

As our intern wandered by, I called out, “Hey Kevin, can you do me a huge favor? Take an Uber over to my house and pack a bag for me with enough for at least a week, including one of my good suits—and I need you back within a half-hour. Also, do you think you can stay at my place for a few days and watch Sirius until I get back?”

He grinned at me. “Sure thing, boss man. It’ll give me a chance to study for finals without my mom breathing down my neck.” He hurried off after I gave him money for the driver.

My next stop was my partner’s office. “Charlie, I’ve got to head out. Sorry for the lack of notice, but I just received a very credible lead for my brother’s whereabouts.”

“Of course, dude—family always comes first! I’ll keep my fingers crossed that this one pans out,” she said, patting my arm. “Fortunately we’re pretty much in between deadlines, so it’s not a big deal to take some personal time right now.”

“You can still reach me by phone or email if something comes up, and I’ll try to log in remotely when I can,” I offered.

She shook her head. “Honestly Sam, don’t even sweat it! We can survive on our own for a few days, so _you_ focus on your brother. All I wanna hear from you until you get back is how the two of you are doing. Just try to make it back before Madison’s ‘time of the month’ if you can. Now scram!”

I gave her a grateful smile and returned to my office, where I pulled out my cellphone and hit one of the speed dial buttons. While it rang, I put it on speaker and started to gather the files I was going to need.

“Federal Bureau of Investigation, Special Agent Henriksen speaking.”

“Hey Victor, it’s Sam Winchester. I found him—he’s staying at the Bel-Air Motel in Okmulgee, just south of Tulsa,” I told him. “I’ve got someone keeping an eye on him right now.”

“You sure this time? Because your crazyass father has sent us on a wild-goose chase before,” Henriksen replied.

“I’ve positively ID’ed John and his truckzilla from the photos my contact sent me. I’m forwarding them to you now.”

There was a short pause, and then he exclaimed, “Well, hot damn! Alright, my team and I should be able to get there in about five hours, six tops. Can your guy hold the old man there until then?”

“Garth may be a bit weird, but Bobby says he’s dependable. He’ll figure something out. I should be there at about the same time. You’ll wait until I get there before going after John, right? I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do with him, but I’m not letting my baby brother go into anyone else’s custody, not even yours—no offense,” I stated.

“None taken. Sure, we can hold off a bit if we arrive on-site before you. We’ll need time to coordinate with the local LEOs anyway,” he said. “Give me your guy’s info so I can get in touch with him, and call me when you land in Tulsa. See you in a few.”

Once the other alpha hung up, I finished packing the paperwork and my laptop. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t call Bobby or anyone else, just in case this turned out to be another bust. Madison came in shortly with the plane, car, and hotel reservations, and Kevin showed up not long after with my bags. Charlie, Madison, and a couple others gave me hugs for good luck, and then I caught an Uber to the airport.

I forced myself to sleep on the flight from San Francisco to Tulsa, since I suspected the long night to come would offer little opportunity for rest. Past experience had taught me to not let myself get too worked up, in case John managed to slip away again. I still offered up a small prayer as we took off that _this_ time would be different.

Upon arriving in Tulsa and picking up my rental car, a green Chevy Tahoe, I first gave Garth a call. “Hey man, I’m leaving the Tulsa airport now and should be at the motel in less than an hour. Are they still there?”

“Hey Sam! Yeah, he’s still there—hasn’t left the room since I delivered the pizza. Just to be sure though, I punched a hole in both of his back tires, so he ain’t going nowhere.” There was a brief pause and the sound of liquid being swallowed. “Listen, you need to get here as fast as you can. There . . . there’s been a whole string of dudes coming in and outta that room in the past coupla hours. I—I assume you can guess what _that_ means.”

I growled softly, my vision flashing red for a moment. “I do. I’ll be there as soon as possible. Has someone from the FBI contacted you yet?”

“Yep, a Special Agent Henriksen called a bit ago and said they’d be here in ‘bout half an hour. I told him he should make sure the people he’s bringing are either betas or alphas with _real_ good self-control. I didn’t mention this before ‘cause I didn’t want you to freak, but . . . when I dropped off the pizza, I could smell that your brother’s in heat,” Garth admitted. “And if even _I_ can tell, then you know it’s pretty darn strong.”

“Fuck! Alright, call me if anything changes. I’ll see you soon.” I hung up, made a quick call to Henriksen to give him my ETA, and then put pedal to the metal.

Just under forty minutes later, I pulled into the lot of the cellular store located next to the motel and parked behind the building. Victor was there, along with a half-dozen agents clustered around three black Suburbans. Alongside the SUVs were two cruisers from the Okmulgee PD. The agents were conferring with the sheriff and two deputies over a rough sketch of the motel and its surroundings as I walked up.

The motel itself was a two-story, flat-roofed building whose cinder-block walls were painted dull orange and doors a dark maroon. Across the parking lot was a newer stucco building, which presumably housed the lobby and manager’s quarters, attached to another row of rooms, and other smaller buildings could be seen to the side. John’s black Sierra was parked in front of the far corner room of the first building.

“Excellent timing, Sam! We’re pretty much ready to go. Your friend Garth is watching the front of the motel from that used car dealership across the street, and we’ve been keeping an eye on the back. There appear to be two . . . customers in the room, along with John and your brother,” Henriksen explained. “Two of my guys and one of the deputies are going to continue casing the back of the building, while the rest of us are gonna kick in the front door. _You_ stay back and wait until we have the perps secured before coming in.”

I nodded my understanding and followed as everyone moved into position. Nevertheless, I maneuvered until I was standing just behind Victor as he gave a silent countdown. When his third finger folded down, two of the men literally kicked the door off its hinges and burst into the room, weapons aimed at those inside. I rushed in right on Victor’s heels and froze.

The scene in the motel room was like something from my worst nightmare. My baby brother was naked and on his knees on one of the double beds in the room, his hands tied behind his back and his head pushed down into the mattress. His face was turned towards the door, so that the ball gag forcing his mouth open and the tears leaking from his closed eyes were clearly visible. A chain led from the pronged choke-collar around his neck to the headboard of the bed. The whole room reeked of a distressed omega in heat, the scent punching several of us straight in the gut.

A burly, well-groomed man was kneeling behind him, his pants around his ankles, his hips still pumping and a riding crop in his raised hand. Another man, skinnier but just as well-dressed, and John were sitting at the dinette table with their flies open and cocks out, stroking themselves as they avidly watched the rape. They all stopped as more agents streamed into the room.

“All you motherfuckers, _FREEZE_!” Henriksen roared. “You two scumbags are under arrest for rape, prostitution, and abetting in the abuse of an omega. Someone get these two outta here and read them their rights. John Winchester, you’re under arrest for multiple counts of first-degree murder, assault, kidnapping, rape, abuse of an omega, solicitation, and generally being a goddamn pain in my ass. And put that thing away, man—nobody wants to see your pale, scrawny dick! You have the right to remain silent . . .”

While Victor read them their rights and his agents pulled the johns away and cuffed them, I pushed past everyone else and made a beeline for Dean. I shoved aside the comforter and sheets, which were soiled with blood, semen, and other fluids, sat down, and pulled him into my lap. The first order of business was unbuckling the gag and tossing it aside, then undoing the rope binding his wrists. I forced my body to disregard the effects of the pheromone-laden air, though I noticed a couple of the agents shifting and adjusting themselves uncomfortably.

As I worked, I crooned soothingly, “Hey little brother, it’s Sammy. I’m _so_ sorry it’s taken so long to find you! But you’re safe now—I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again!”

He continued to cry while I gently massaged feeling back into his arms and shoulders. His wrists and ankles were chafed with rope burns, his back and buttocks were covered in raised, bleeding welts, and the skin over his too-prominent ribs was littered with bruises. His thighs were smeared with blood, his face sported a fat lower lip and swelling over one cheekbone and eye, and his complexion looked like it hadn’t seen the sun in years. His pupils when he opened his eyes were pinpricks despite the low lighting, suggesting he’d been drugged, though there were no signs of track marks that I could see. 

“Sammy? Is—is this really you? This . . . this ain’t just a dream?” he choked out, looking up at me unsteadily.

“Oh, Dee!” I hugged him tightly. “This is real—your long nightmare is over. I’ll get you out of this place as soon as I can.”

I then studied the collar, which seemed to be locked in place, and the chain lead, which in turn was padlocked to the slats of the headboard. Before I could figure out what to do, Garth hurried up with a pair of bolt cutters. I carefully loosened the collar as much as I could and held it away from Dean’s skin, allowing Garth to snip through a couple of links. As I threw the remnants to the ground in disgust, the sheriff came over and handed me a clean blanket.

“Here, get the poor boy covered up. I assume you’re taking custody of this omega?” she asked.

“Thanks. Yes, I’m his older brother, and I’m taking him away from this shithole,” I replied, tenderly tucking the blanket around my trembling brother. “But first he needs medical attention.”

“Here then—this is the address and phone number of the best omega clinic in the area. They treat their patients like people, at least to the best of their ability, _and_ they’re open twenty-four hours. It’s the only place my family takes their omegas to.” The sheriff held out a business card. “Let me have your keys, and one of my deputies will bring your car up front.”

I exchanged the rental’s fob for the card and thanked her. She moved away, and Henriksen came over.

“Damn, that bastard really did a number on the kid!” he commented, studying Dean. “Listen, we’re going to be here a while processing this dump and questioning witnesses, then interrogating the perps at the police station, but you don’t need to stick around for all that. Just have the clinic take photos of your brother’s injuries and send them and their medical report to me. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Victor, I can’t thank you enough for your help,” I said.

“No need to thank me—bringing down a major douchebag like John Winchester is going to make my _year_ , not to mention make my superiors real happy too! Besides, you did most of the legwork,” he pointed out. “Now go take care of your kid brother.”

Another agent joined us and scanned Dean’s chip before having me fill out and sign a form taking responsibility for him. Once the paperwork was taken care of, I made sure my brother was properly covered in the blanket before standing, cradling him against my chest. Henriksen accompanied us as we left the motel room. Outside, the Tahoe was waiting a few feet from the door, Garth leaning by the passenger door. A little further away, John was shouting and struggling as the agents tried to load him into the back of one of their Suburbans.

“— _hell_ do you think you’re doing? I never murdered anyone—those were _monsters_ , and they all deserved to die! Let me go so I can do my goddamn job!” he demanded, doing his best to elbow, kick, and head-butt the men holding him. His frenzied gaze then fell on me and Dean. “And where do _you_ think you’re going with _my_ fucking property? That worthless piece of omega trash is _mine_ , and I can do whatever I damn well please with it!”

As Dean whimpered and shrank against my chest and I struggled against the urge to beat John to a pulp, Victor headed over to the other vehicle and snapped, “Shut the hell up! Assholes like you give the rest of us alphas a bad name! For those of us _not_ still living in the nineteenth century, those ‘monsters’ are people too, with all the same rights as us humans—including the right to a fair trial if they did something wrong. You’re not even a licensed hunter, just a nutjob vigilante who’s finally going to pay for your crimes. And Johnny-boy, you better enjoy your last taste of freedom, ‘cause the other lowlifes where you’re going don’t look kindly on rapists and child abusers.”

I got myself back under control and carried my brother to the rental. Garth opened the passenger door and helped me settle Dean in the seat. As much as I was tempted to go over to the other vehicle and slug John, I knew that if I started I wouldn’t be able to stop—and my brother needed me here, not under arrest for patricide. Then I looked at Dean’s battered face and went, _Fuck it_.

I stalked over to where the agents were still trying to subdue John and tapped Henriksen on the shoulder. “Victor, could I have a moment alone with him?”

Henriksen eyed me briefly and then shrugged. “Normally this would be a bad idea, but in _this_ dickhead’s case . . . Hey fellas, does that look like a flying pig to you?”

While the agents made a show of turning their backs and looking upward, I stepped up into John’s grille, the edges of my vision going red. Before he could say anything, I cocked a fist back and punched his gut as hard as I could. As he bent over and wheezed, I growled, “ _That_ was for hurting my baby brother, you cowardly cunt!”

He straightened a bit and sneered, “Big words now, Sammy, but let’s see what you’d do if I wasn’t in cuffs!”

“Unlike someone with a ‘pale, scrawny dick,’ _I_ don’t have anything to prove. And it’s _Sam_.” I kneed him in the groin as a parting shot and spat on him for good measure before turning and walking away.

I went back to my rental and leaned inside to see if Dean was alright. His panicked expression calmed when he saw me, and I mentally kicked myself for leaving him to indulge in a bit of petty vengeance. I rubbed a soothing hand over his head in silent apology and gently closed the passenger door, then turned to the skinny hunter still nearby.

“Thanks man, I _really_ owe you one! Finally having Dean with me again means everything to me, and it couldn’t have happened without your help. So here, this is for you.” I handed the beta a thick envelope.

Garth opened it and whistled when he saw the stack of fifty- and hundred-dollar bills. “Whoa, dude! I dunno if I can take this—I didn’t help you two for the money.”

“You more than earned that, alright? My brother being safe is worth so much more to me than that. And I’m serious about owing you a favor, and a big one at that,” I insisted.

“Well, okay. C’mere then.” To my surprise, he suddenly enveloped me in a hug. “You’re alright, Sam Winchester. Gimme a call if you or Dean needs any other help. I’m gonna stick around here for a few days in case you or Mr. G-man needs my testimony, and I can come meet you wherever any time after that.”

I walked around the SUV, got in, and cranked the heat up when I noticed Dean shivering. I then asked, “How are you feeling, kiddo?”

“Wh—what is _he_ . . . is he gon—gonna . . .” He was clearly stuttering from more than just the cold.

I reached over and gently tugged him across the bench seat until I could wrap a reassuring arm around him. “John won’t be able to do anything to you anymore, okay? With Agent Henriksen’s help, he’s going to be locked up for a _very_ long time. And before that happens, I’m going to make sure he has no legal ability to get close to you, let alone hurt you.”

He took a deep breath. “O—okay, Sam. Now what?”

“First we’re going to a clinic to get your injuries tended, then we’ll go to my hotel to rest. We’ll take it step-by-step from there together.” I gave him another hug and buried my face in his hair, truly taking in his sweet scent for the first time in ten long years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who've been reading my The Monster That You Know series, this is one of the stories that I started working on when my muse didn't feel inspired by that story, since I discovered it was better to do that than try to force myself to write when I was feeling blocked. I figured I'd start posting some of those stories as well since I have a few chapters of each--though don't worry, new updates for We'll Do That Together Too will still come out!
> 
> The main reason for swapping the brothers' ages was that I didn't want Dean's personality subsumed or destroyed by the long period of abuse, as too often happens in similar stories (especially when his situation is exacerbated by a setting like this where he's already treated as a lesser being as an omega). I felt it would be easier for him to retain an inner core of strength if he had a childhood where he'd been protected and nurtured as much as possible to balance out the decade of mistreatment, but Sam wouldn't be in a position to properly provide that as the younger brother. This story does explore what the A/B/O dynamic might be like in a world where omegas are considered property, though I don't want to go so far as the horrid levels of degradation seen in some fics.
> 
> Needless to say, this story isn't for fans of John Winchester. Despite how he's depicted in this story (or in Nothing Else Matters), I don't believe he was this bad in canon. He was a lousy father who neglected his sons, put them in unnecessary danger, thrust too much on them at too young an age (especially Dean), and frequently put his obsession with revenge ahead of their well-being, but he never physically or sexually abused them. More importantly, he loved them with all of his being, thought he was doing what was best for them (even if it wasn't), and ultimately got his priorities straight when it truly mattered. However, for this story he needed to be the bad guy--and maybe let us see what could've happened if his own trauma had overwhelmed him.
> 
> I plan to try to update this fairly regularly, though it'll probably be more like every 2 weeks or so and alternate with other stories I'm working on to stretch out the buffer of completed chapters. This is a WIP, and the tags will be updated periodically as needed. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos are always highly appreciated. :)


	2. We Can’t Find What We Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there will be clinical discussions of Dean's injuries, including discussions of sexual abuse and drug addiction. Please take care if this could disturb you.

The clinic was about ten minutes away, on the northern edge of Okmulgee. Dean spent the drive seemingly drowsing against my shoulder, with the occasional whimper whenever the pain of his heat spiked. At this time of night, the clinic was the only business still open in the area. I pulled into the nearly empty parking lot and took the first non-handicapped space closest to the door. I got out, scooped up my brother in his blanket, and carried him inside.

The lobby was well-lit and clean. The front wall was comprised primarily of the glass double doors and a bank of large windows. The back wall held the reception desk, the door to a small bathroom, and the entrance to a hallway leading back. A row of comfortable chairs, each with a cushion on the floor in front of it, lined the remaining two walls, with small tables holding magazines and brochures at either end.

I walked up to the desk and asked, “Is one of the doctors available? My brother needs medical attention.”

The receptionist took one look at Dean and immediately replied, “Please come with me to one of the exam rooms, sir. One of our nurses will come in shortly to take his vitals. While you’re waiting, please fill out these forms.”

The examination room she led us to was painted a soothing pale blue and featured a reclining exam table, small counter with a sink and supply cabinets above and below, physician beam scale, and two chairs. Overall, it didn’t look much different than those in any doctor’s office I’d visited. The receptionist left a clipboard with the forms on the counter and a hospital gown on the exam table before closing the door quietly behind her.

I tried to get Dean to sit on the padded table, but he clung to me with a frantic whine, his scent once again distressed. I sat in one of the chairs instead with him in my lap and rubbed his back soothingly. After a couple minutes, he loosened his grip on my shirt and raised his head from my chest.

“What’s wrong, Dee?” I inquired softly.

“ _He_ would br—bring me to one of these places after he’d hurt me too mu—much or let one of the jo—johns get too rough,” he gasped. “They’d po—poke and prod and make everything hurt wo—worse before fixing whatever was wr—wrong. Or they’d kn—knock me out, and I didn’t know _wh—what_ they did then.”

“This isn’t going to be like those times. First, you’re with me, not _him_. I’ve always taken care of you and never let you get hurt, right?” I waited for his nod before continuing, “Second, this clinic seems pretty good. Does it look anything like the places he took you to?”

He glanced around and shook his head. “N—no, they were all real grotty and smelly, and the st—stuff there was old and beat-up. Plus there were always people yelling and cr—crying in the other rooms. This place though . . . it looks like the clinics you’d try to take me to when we were kids.”

“That’s right, though I think those weren’t as nice as here. So this visit should be much better than what John put you through. I won’t let anyone here hurt you, and we’ll find out what we need to do so you can get well,” I assured him. “Do you think you can put on that gown and sit on the table, kiddo? You can keep the blanket on until the doctor gets here if you want.”

He nodded hesitantly. I hugged him and kissed his forehead before unwinding his blanket cocoon and helping him stand. He walked slowly over to the exam table, carefully put on the gown, and sat down gingerly. Once he was settled, I wrapped the blanket around him again and then wheeled the chair closer so I could hold his hand while working on the forms.

The nurse who showed up a few minutes later measured his height, weight, temperature, blood pressure, and pulse and checked pupillary response and basic reflexes. She asked a few rudimentary questions, scanned his chip, and took the clipboard with her when she left.

A man in his late forties with salt-and-pepper hair came in about ten minutes later. “Mr. Winchester? I’m Dr. Garrison. I’m here to examine Dean and see how we can help him, but first I’d like to ask you both a few questions.”

I nodded. “Go ahead. Whatever you need to treat him, I’ll be glad to provide.”

“Good to know. First according to his chip, Dean belongs to a John Winchester, not you, correct?” The doctor looked down at the charts.

I grimaced. “At the moment, yes, though I plan to file for change of custody as soon as I can. John is technically our father, but I’m the one who took care of Dean as a child. I was planning to sue for custody when I reached legal majority, but John ran out and took Dean with him before I could. John had been abusing him since then, and I only just got him back tonight.”

“So you’re saying that the omega’s injuries are the result of your father’s mistreatment?” he asked. Before I could respond, he turned to my brother. “Hello, Dean. Is this true? You don’t have to be afraid to tell me anything. We take omega cruelty and abuse very seriously here, so we’ll do whatever it takes if someone, _anyone_ , is still hurting you.”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise at being addressed, and he squeezed my hand tightly as he answered, “Ye—yeah, this was all from my dad an—and the guys he pi—pimped me out to. Sammy . . . he always looked out for me and did his best to protect me when we were kids. It ai—ain’t _his_ fault I got so fucked up before he found me.”

“Doctor, I get that you’re trying to protect my little brother, but please understand that I’d _never_ do anything to hurt him. If you need proof, you can ask your sheriff—she took part in my father’s arrest earlier tonight, and she recommended that I bring Dean here. I can also put you in touch with Special Agent Victor Henriksen of the FBI who led the bust and who can vouch for how long I’ve been searching,” I explained, holding tightly onto my patience.

“Forgive me, but I have to ask whenever an omega is brought here in this kind of condition. Too many people—never mind, it’s not important at the moment.” Dr. Garrison sighed and checked the charts again. “Alright, I’m going to give Dean a quick physical exam, and then I’d like to take him in back to run some tests—bloodwork, urinalysis, X-rays, maybe an ultrasound, nothing painful or invasive. Afterwards we can clean him up and tend to the superficial injuries.”

Dean gasped and looked at me pleadingly, so I asked, “Can I stay with him?”

The doctor studied our clasped hands before answering. “Normally we don’t allow family members in back, but under the circumstances, I don’t see why not. We don’t have any other patients in the testing or treatment rooms, and if it’ll help with your brother’s obvious heat symptoms and ease his state of mind . . .”

He approached my brother cautiously and listened to his heart and lungs, palpitated his abdomen, and examined his ears, eyes, nose, mouth, and throat. I then helped Dean off the exam table and slid an arm around his waist to keep him steady as we followed Dr. Garrison further into the clinic. 

First the same nurse as before drew some blood, and then the omega was directed to a bathroom to provide a urine sample. We were taken to the radiology lab, where the technician took a series of X-rays. Lastly, we went to a separate room so that our nurse could perform an andrological exam and rape kit, as well as take pictures of all of his injuries.

While we were waiting for the preliminary test results, the nurse took Dean back to the bathroom to help him take a quick shower. Once he’d emerged with the worst of the filth washed away, she began to carefully clean his wounds and bind them as needed. I held his hand throughout and did my best to comfort him. Once he was re-dressed in a fresh hospital gown, we were brought back to the exam room, where another nurse brought him an ice pack for his face and some orange juice, graham crackers, and apple slices to nibble on.

Dr. Garrison returned shortly after that. “I have to say, overall Dean’s in better condition than I would’ve expected, given the situation he’s been in. There are of course the extensive weals, bruises, and abrasions over much of his body, but only a few broke the skin. Keep those ones clean, use the antibiotic cream I’ll prescribe, and keep them bandaged for a few more days, and they should heal with minimal scarring, while the rest should heal sooner than that. I’ll also prescribe a mild analgesic to ease his discomfort.

“Of more concern are the two cracked ribs on his left side, underneath the worst of the bruising—looks like someone kicked him hard or hit him with a blunt object there. There isn’t much we can do for this—rest, ice, painkillers, and breathing exercises I’ll show you to prevent pneumonia. There are indications of healed breaks in a few places—both tibias, proximal phalanges of three fingers on his right hand, ribs in two other places, and nasal bone. Fortunately whoever treated these injuries set them fairly well,” he explained. “There’s some scarring over his body as would be expected, but not the extensive level of permanent damage from beatings, cuts, burns, et cetera that we usually see in long-term abuse cases like this. My guess is that despite the obvious mistreatment, your father took at least some care to prevent Dean’s appearance from being marred too much.

“The most serious issue is the drugs in his system, which is two-fold. First, there’s an implant under the skin of his upper arm that’s keeping him in a constant state of estrus—and frankly, his level of control under these circumstances is remarkable. I assume neither of you want that thing to remain in place, so when we’re done here I’ll take him back one last time to remove it. It’ll be a small incision, no stitches needed, that should heal within two weeks. Considering how high the hormone dose is, it’ll probably take four to six weeks for his cycle to even out, and then he should experience heats every three to four months like normal for a male omega. However, he should be monitored for any long-term damage to his system, since there’s a reason implants like this are illegal.”

Dr. Garrison continued, “It also appears that your father was using morphine and other opiates to keep Dean docile, and unfortunately he’s most likely addicted at this point. The best treatment is to stop taking the drugs and switch to a detoxification medication. One choice is Suboxone, which is a daily pill that reduces cravings and withdrawal symptoms and can be started once the patient has clear signs of withdrawal, usually about eight to ten hours after the last dose of opioids. The other is Vivitrol, which is a monthly shot that completely blocks the effects of opioids but can only be started after seven to ten days of abstinence. I’ll give you literature on both so you can decide which is best. There’s also methadone, but that requires going to a methadone clinic each day for the dose, so it wouldn’t be my first choice for treatment. I don’t recommend cold-turkey as an option—it’s much more difficult and more prone to relapse. Whichever route you choose, I suggest getting Dean counseling for this _and_ the rest of the abuse.

“Now, one complication if you choose Vivitrol is that I saw your home address is in California, so I don’t know how long you plan to stay here. The withdrawal symptoms before your brother can get the initial shot aren’t pretty and may require medical attention, so I’d advise that you either plan to remain in this area until he’s been settled on the new meds or wait until you go back home to start the treatment process, in which case I’ll prescribe a maintenance dose of Percocet or oxycodone to tide him over,” he concluded. 

“Can we have a few minutes to discuss this?” I asked.

“Of course, take as much time as you need. When you’re ready, call for one of the nurses to get me.” The doctor stood and left the room.

I held my arms out and waited for Dean to get off the exam table and curl up in my lap before asking, “What do you want to do, baby brother?”

“I wanna get rid of the implant,” he answered promptly. “I’m ti—tired of always feeling horny and in pain and of—of douchey alphas constantly coming after me. Is—is that okay with you, Sam? And will you stay while they take it out?”

“Of course, Dee.” I nuzzled his hair for a moment to reassure him. “We’re lucky that only betas are on duty here tonight, and that the alphas on Henriksen’s team kept under control. But I can’t even imagine how much harder that damn thing has made your life. As long as the doctor doesn’t object, I’ll hold your hand during the whole procedure. What about the detox options?”

He was quiet for a long moment before replying, “I—I dunno. I wanna get off this junk right away, but I also wanna go home with you as soon as possible.”

“If it helps, we have to stay here for a while regardless, until I can get legal custody of you from John,” I pointed out. “I have an appointment scheduled with a lawyer for day after tomorrow, and while we’ll push for an expedited hearing, I’m not sure how soon it’ll be. We won’t be leaving for several days at least, so if you want to start the detox now, we can make it work. The other question is which medication? The shot once a month sounds better long-term, but I don’t know if I want to put you through a week or longer of withdrawal.”

“I know what wi—withdrawal is like— _he_ would sometimes hold my—my fix for a coupla days as punishment. But that was hardly the worst shit he did to me, dude. If the shot will make me feel be—better than the pills, then I can suck it up and deal with the symptoms for a few days,” he asserted, meeting my eyes.

“If that’s what you really want,” I said hesitantly. “But if it gets too bad, you can always change your mind, buddy, no questions asked. Let me go get the doctor.”

When Dr. Garrison came back in, he asked, “Have we made any decisions?”

“Dean wants the implant out, and he wants to go the Vivitrol route,” I responded.

The doctor looked at the omega. “This is what _you_ want, Dean?”

My brother took a deep breath and nodded. “Ye—yeah, this is my decision, Doc. Sam asked me what I wanted to do, and this is it. Can—can he stay with me while you take the implant out?”

“That won’t be a problem. Alright, both of you come with me.”

The procedure was brief, like the doctor told us. He first disinfected and numbed the skin on Dean’s upper arm around the implant, then pinched the skin so that the implant was raised. He made a small incision at one end, pushed the cylindrical piece of metal out, and sealed the cut with medical tape. An adhesive bandage went over the incision, and then a compression bandage on top of that.

“All done! You can take the top bandage off in twenty-four hours, and the second in another three days,” Dr. Garrison announced after wiping the omega’s arm clean and tossing his gloves in a biohazard bin. “The tape should fall off on its own in about ten days.”

Dean looked up in surprise. “It’s already over? I barely felt anything!”

Dr. Garrison smiled and gently patted his shoulder. “I can imagine many of your previous medical experiences were traumatic, but they don’t have to be painful or intimidating. I hope tonight shows you that we’re supposed to be the good guys.

“Now that the implant is gone, your heat should subside in another day or two. The constant heat did have the positive effect of mitigating the worst of the physical trauma from the long-term sexual abuse. However, the amount of tearing and scarring in your omega channel is still severe enough that I advise avoiding intercourse for at least two weeks, longer if possible. Skin-to-skin contact with your alpha will help alleviate the worst of the heat symptoms, as you may have already noticed, as will his scent. If that and the mild painkiller I’m going to prescribe aren’t enough, you can have someone use a well-lubricated finger to _gently_ stimulate your prostate for relief, but nothing more. The mental and emotional damage from the repeated assaults will obviously be even more significant, so receiving proper counseling as soon as possible is imperative.

“The painkiller is simply a prescription-strength version of ibuprofen, since obviously any narcotic will exacerbate your other issues. As far as the detox treatment goes, we can’t start it until at least seven days after your last opiate dose and you’re not experiencing any withdrawal symptoms. You should begin feeling those within twelve hours of your last dose, and they generally last several days. I’ll give you a prescription for clonidine as well, which can help relieve the symptoms, and a pamphlet which will include other ways to ease them. Come back to see me when your symptoms have ended, and I’ll write out the script for the Vivitrol and give you the first dose.

“The last issue I want to discuss with both of you is Dean’s weight. He’s clearly undernourished for his height and frame and should realistically weigh at least thirty pounds more. How much did your father feed you?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “Usually a handful or two of kibble—the really cheap stuff—in the morning and again in the evening. Though if he was pi—pissed at me for something, he’d often skip one of the feedings, sometimes more. He wa—wanted to keep me thin so I’d look younger, and also so I didn’t have the energy to fight him so much.”

Dr. Garrison shook his head in disgust. “Well, no more of that! You need regular meals of _real_ food—none of that glorified pet food crap—and try to keep the junk to a minimum. Until your body gets used to the increased intake, I recommend starting off with five or six small meals instead of three larger ones, and stick to mild food for the first few days. I’m also going to prescribe some vitamins and supplements to take for a while. As you begin to feel better, add in some light exercise, focusing more on strength training than cardio. I’d like to see you put on one to two pounds a week initially, and then more when you can exercise regularly. Any questions?”

“Not right now, though I think we’re still trying to take everything in,” I said. “One thing though—when you send the report and photos of Dean’s injuries to Agent Henriksen, can I get a set as well? They’ll be invaluable in the custody case against our father.”

“Of course, I’ll have one of the nurses take care of that. We’ll call you with the rest of the results from the bloodwork and urinalysis in a few days and let you know if any further treatment is required. When you do think of any questions, feel free to call me or my colleagues while you’re in the area, and make sure to find a good omega doctor when you get home. I’ll step out to finish writing the prescriptions and instructions you’ll need, so Dean can get dressed.” He stood and then paused. “Do you have anything for him to wear?”

I hunched my shoulders in chagrin. “My priority earlier was getting to John before he could take Dean away again, so I didn’t have time to pack anything for him or pick something up on the way. We didn’t take anything for him from John’s motel room or truck either—”

“It’s okay, Sammy—there ain’t anything back there I wanna keep,” Dean put in quietly.

I frowned, annoyed with myself at the oversight. “Still, I should’ve thought about this sooner! I suppose I can pull something from my luggage, though it’ll be pretty big on you. We can buy some proper clothes for you tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Well, I have a suggestion. A former employee left some of his scrubs here, and he was closer to Dean’s size than you are, Sam. They’re a bit worn but clean, and should do for tonight,” Dr. Garrison offered. “I can have the nurse bring them in. I’ll be at the nurses’ station when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, that would be great!” I smiled gratefully.

He left the room, and the nurse brought a set of plain blue scrubs, thick socks, and a pair of simple slippers a couple minutes later. The scrubs were still a little loose on my brother but not as ridiculously large as my clothes would’ve been. Once he was dressed and wrapped in a new blanket for warmth—the one we’d come in with needed a good laundering by now—we left the treatment room to find the doctor.

As promised, Dr. Garrison provided us with several prescriptions, pamphlets, and sets of detailed instructions, as well as a list of overnight pharmacies nearby. I paid the bill, wincing slightly since I couldn’t get omega insurance yet without official custody, and we bid farewell to the very kind and helpful clinic staff. After a stop at a pharmacy several blocks away to get Dean’s medications, we headed north towards Tulsa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dean's taken his first steps toward healing, but there's still a long road ahead for him. And Sam's going to have his work cut out for him to help his little brother along the way, but he's going to try to do the best he can.
> 
> In this story, I want to try out an A/B/O setting where omegas are clearly property, having already explored a setting in a previous story (Nothing Else Matters) where they're nominally equal but still heavily discriminated against. I don't want a world where they're regularly abused as a matter of course, however, as I don't think I could sustain that kind of darkness for very long. Also, I don't feel something like that fits with a non-dystopian version of the US--America certainly still has its inequities, but that doesn't extend to accepting treating human beings worse than animals. So here society views omegas as something like glorified pets, where they have some legal protections while under their owners' control and where abuse generally isn't accepted. The hows and whys of this state of affairs for omegas will be explored as the story progresses.
> 
> The forced drug addiction wasn't something I'd planned when I originally started to write this story. However, when I determined that I didn't want a completely broken Dean, I had to figure out how John could've controlled him for so long until Sam found them, considering that this is a version of the same man who withstood thirty years at the hands of Hell's best torturer. As a result, John had the implant put in not only to make Dean more enticing to the nasty johns but also to force him to have to constantly fight against the hormones, and he kept Dean doped up as much as possible to make him easier to manage (in addition to beating him, starving him, keeping him isolated, etc.). (Like I mentioned before, this is NOT a nice version of John.) The drug addiction will also add an additional aspect to Dean's road to recovery that not as many stories get into.
> 
> The next update should be posted in 2-3 weeks, since I'm alternating with a couple of other stories as well. Constructive criticism is welcome as always, and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


	3. We Get a Little Restless from the Searching

We pulled up in front of the Ambassador Hotel about thirty minutes later. Rather than wake up my brother, who’d fallen asleep with his head in my lap not long after we’d left the drug store, I turned the car keys over to the valet and my bags to the bellhop before scooping Dean up in my arms. I carried him into the tastefully appointed lobby, the bellhop trailing behind, and walked up to the front desk. There were fortunately no other guests waiting to check in ahead of us this late at night.

The concierge looked up immediately and smiled. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Reservation for Sam Winchester. I called a little while ago as well to ask for special accommodations since my omega is in heat. I hope the last-minute request isn’t an issue,” I replied.

“Of course not, Mr. Winchester.” She typed away at her computer for a moment. “We do have a suite available on the floor we reserve for such circumstances. The rooms are equipped with all the supplies you should need, and you can call us here at any time for anything. Access to the level requires a specific keycard, so you don’t have to worry about anyone bothering you. The rooms are sound-proofed as well, so you don’t have to be concerned about disturbing the other guests on the floor either.”

“That sounds perfect, thank you.” I adjusted my hold on Dean to pull out my wallet and hand over my driver’s license and credit card.

As she took them, her gaze lingered on his bare neck. “Sir, I should mention that while your omega is free to move around the hotel premises without a collar or leash, you are liable to run into . . . issues if you take him outside like that.”

“I just rescued him from an abusive situation earlier tonight and haven’t had the opportunity to get him anything,” I explained. “I plan to go out tomorrow to get him clothes and anything else he needs, including a new collar. Is there a store in the area you’d recommend—one that will treat him decently?”

“I understand, sir, and can give you the names and addresses of a couple of shops nearby that should suit you.” The beta wrote the information down on a piece of hotel stationary and handed it to me with the room key. “Is there anything else I can help you with before you retire?”

“Yes, if you could have someone send up a meal for him—something fairly light and mild—that would be greatly appreciated. Thanks,” I said.

“Room service can bring you a meal in twenty minutes. Have a good night, and please enjoy your stay at the Ambassador Hotel.” Her expression softened as she glanced at Dean again. “And I hope your omega feels better. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to own a goldfish, let alone another person, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I agree, and I’m going to do my best to help him recover. Thank you again.” I smiled at the concierge and headed to the elevators.

Once the bellhop dropped my luggage off and left, I carried Dean through the living area of our suite into the bedroom and laid him down on the bed. I then gently shook his shoulder and murmured, “Hey Dee, wake up. We’re in our hotel room now.”

He started to stir, then his body stiffened, and his eyes popped open and cast around frantically. When his gaze fell on me, he immediately relaxed. “Sam—Sammy? I—I thought for a moment . . . never mind.”

I stroked a soothing hand through his hair. “I get it, kiddo—it’s going to take you a while to get used to being safe again. I’m sorry to wake you up, but room service will be sending up something for you to eat in fifteen or twenty minutes. Do you want to get cleaned up properly before the food comes?”

He sat up and stretched, wincing as the movement pulled at some of his wounds, and then looked around the room. His eyes widened as they took in the plush bedding on the king-sized bed he was laying on, quilted bench at the foot of the bed that matched the padded headboard behind him, lacquered nightstands, dresser, and coffee station, large flat screen TV, tasteful décor, and more high-end furnishings visible through the doorway to the living area.

“Wow, this has gotta be the nicest place I’ve ever been at!” He looked at me in concern. “How—how are you paying for this place, and after spending so much at the clinic? I don’t want you getting in trouble over me.”

I smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I haven’t relied on fake credit cards or anything else hinky to support myself in a _long_ time! There’s _so_ much to talk about, about what’s happened to both of us in the past ten years—but not now. We’re both exhausted, so any deep discussions can wait until later. Will you need help taking a shower?”

“Not a little kid anymore, dude,” he complained with an irritated glance after carefully standing.

My smile widened into a grin at this glimpse of spirit. Nevertheless, I followed him through the living area into the bathroom, grabbing my shower bag along the way. The bathroom featured a large lacquered vanity with a single sink and lighted mirror, separate water closet, glass-enclosed jetted tub with high-pressure showerhead mounted above, chrome fixtures, marble tile, a generous supply of soft towels and washcloths, and two monogrammed robes hanging on the door.

“Man, check out that tub! Can . . . can I use that instead of taking a shower?” Big gold-tinged green eyes looked up at me hopefully.

“I think if you tried to take a bath right now, you’ll just fall asleep. But if you really want to, go ahead,” I replied, setting the bag down on the vanity, which was stocked with extra sets of complimentary soap, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

“No, you’re right. Knowing my luck, I’d manage to drown myself or some shit before I have a chance to really enjoy being with you again.” He pouted for a moment before turning the water on.

“Feel free to use anything from my shower bag until we can get you your own stuff, and call me if you need something.” I left the door open a bit when I stepped out.

While the shower was running, I brought my other bags into the bedroom and unpacked. I was pleasantly surprised to find among my things a set of smaller sweatpants and t-shirt, clothes I’d bought some time ago in hopes that my brother could use them when I eventually found him. Grateful for Kevin’s thoughtfulness, I brought them and a pair of my socks into the bathroom and left them on the vanity. Once the garment bag with my suit inside was hung up and the rest of my clothing put away in the dresser and closet, I sat on the couch in the living area to go through the instructions and pamphlets Dr. Garrison had given us.

The shower soon stopped, and a string of muttered curses issued from the bathroom a few minutes later. I hurried inside and found Dean in front of the vanity mirror, fighting to get a brush through his tangled hair. The sweatpants and t-shirt were loose on him, not surprising since I’d guessed at the sizes when I got them, but not as bad as if he were wearing my clothes. Plus they had to be warmer and more comfortable than the borrowed scrubs from the clinic.

I reached out and took the brush from him. “Here, let me help, buddy. Follow me.”

I grabbed the leave-in conditioner from my shower bag and led him into the living area, where I sat in the armchair and gestured for him to sit on the floor in front of me. I first worked the product through his hair with my fingers and then began carefully brushing out the tangles.

“I’m surprised John let your hair get so long,” I commented as I worked. “He was always on my case about how long mine was—even threatened to shave my head once or twice if I didn’t get it cut!”

“I think he felt it was too much work to keep cutting mine short, and that I’d appeal to the fucking johns better if I looked more _girly_ —plus he wasn’t dumb enough to let me have anything sharp to cut it myself. But since he rarely let me take care of it properly either, he still had to hack it off whenever it got too snarled up.” His shoulders hunched. “I—I _hate_ it!”

“Well, if you want, we can find a salon tomorrow so you can get it cut however you’d like,” I told him. “I was already planning to take you out to get some clothes of your own, as long as you’re up to it. Okay, that should do it.”

The omega’s hair now fell in a shining golden-bronze sheet to his mid-back. I set the brush down and ran my fingers through his hair a few times, then returned to the bathroom to wash my hands. I emerged to find him braiding it back, so I went into the bedroom to search for a hair elastic. As I was handing one to him, someone knocked at the suite door, and I called for them to enter.

A young man in a waiter’s uniform opened the door and pushed a serving cart covered in a small tablecloth inside the room. He set two covered trays on the coffee table, bid us to have a good night, and left. The first tray held a cup of creamy tomato rice soup, half of a thick grilled cheese sandwich, and a mug of hot chocolate, while the second contained a slice of cheesecake drizzled in strawberry puree, a small bowl of fruit salad with a honey glaze, and a vanilla milkshake mounded with whipped cream.

Dean stared at the trays. “Is this all for _me_?”

“Yes, it is. Take your time and stop if you start to feel ill. We can put whatever you can’t finish in the mini-fridge for later,” I replied, nudging him to take a seat on the couch.

He blew on the soup before gingerly sipping a spoonful and closed his eyes to savor the taste. He then took a bite of the sandwich and moaned happily as he chewed. He ate a little more of each before trying the hot cocoa, which also met his approval judging from the enthusiastic slurping.

While he continued to eat, I took advantage of this peaceful moment to study how much my brother had changed. The last time I’d seen him, he’d barely entered puberty and had still been small and boyish. In front of me now, however, was a beautiful young man with a tall, broad-shouldered frame and sharp, striking features. He was of course too thin, his skin too pale and marred with bruises, but even those did little to detract from his allure. Missing out on his transformation from sweet boy to stunning man was yet another crime to lay at John’s feet, and I had to take a moment once again to repress my anger in order to avoid upsetting the omega.

Dean abruptly noticed me watching him and flushed a bit in embarrassment. “Sorry ‘bout the noise, man. It’s just . . . this is already the best day I’ve had in _years_. I wanna thank you for finding me and taking me away fro—from _him_.”

I sat down beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You don’t need to thank me, Dee. You’re my brother, and I’d do _anything_ for you. I’m just sorry it took me so long! If I’d gotten to you sooner—”

“Don’t feel bad, Sammy. I know you never gave up on me,” he interrupted gently. “And it ain’t like _he_ made it easy to track us down. I didn’t give up on you either—no matter how much he hurt me, no matter how much he tried to convince me that you didn’t care, I never stopped believing you were out there looking for me.

“You said we don’t hafta talk ‘bout what happened now, but—but you gotta know that I _fought_ him as hard as I could for as long as I could,” he continued earnestly. “I kept trying to find ways to contact you or run away, kept trying to kick the ass of those fucking johns, even kept trying to go after _him_. When he realized his damn alpha voice didn’t work on me—thanks to what you and Bobby taught me—he tried to beat and starve me into submission and finally had to resort to doping me up.”

“I believe you, and I’m _so_ proud of you! Those times you managed to get a message out to Bobby or Pastor Jim were the closest I ever came to reaching you until now. What you were able to survive through all these years—you’re amazing!” I pulled him into a fierce embrace.

As he hugged back, I buried my face in the hair at his nape. Now that the last of the filth and the stench of those rapist bastards had been scrubbed away, his rich scent—reminiscent of cinnamon, caramelized sugar, and apple blossoms—blended headily with the pheromones of his heat. I inhaled deeply and felt the urge to hold him tighter, to push him down and—

I swore mentally at my unconscious reaction and quickly leaned back before it could be noticed. “I—I’ll be right back—need to change into something more comfortable myself after such a long day, right? You stay here and eat as much as you can.”

I stood and hurried into the bedroom, shutting the door partially behind me. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, bringing up the memory of the foulest corpse I’d ever had to dig up to dampen my arousal and get back under control. I then stripped down to my boxers and undershirt and pulled on a pair of loose sweatpants for good measure. Firmly telling my downstairs brain to behave _or else_ , I returned to the other room.

Dean by this point had finished his sandwich and most of his soup and was sipping ecstatically at his milkshake, which he put down when I came in. “This is _awesome_! Just wish I had room for that cheesecake, but it ain’t wafer-thin!”

I snorted in amusement. “No, it’s not, but we can save it for when you get hungry later. Now that you’ve eaten, you should take some ibuprofen. How long has it been since the last time John dosed you?”

“Uh, it was right after he got that pizza, so . . . I dunno, maybe ten hours?” He shrugged. “If you wanna know whether I’m starting to feel the withdrawal kicking in, then yeah. It ain’t too bad right now though.”

“Still, you should begin taking the clonidine now—no sense in suffering through the symptoms unnecessarily.” I retrieved the medication bottles from the bedroom, measured out the appropriate number of pills, and handed them to him with a glass of water. “I should also apply the antibiotic cream to the cuts on your back and re-bandage them. Oh, and it looks like the doctor prescribed another cream to use . . . um, inside your channel to help it heal. Can you do that on your own, or . . . do—do you need help with—”

“No, no, I can take care of it!” he answered hastily, blushing furiously.

He swallowed the pills, including the vitamins Dr. Garrison had prescribed, and took off his shirt so I could tend to his back. After re-dressing, he took the jar of the other cream and retired to the bathroom for privacy, while I gathered up the used dishes and placed the tray outside the suite door for eventual pickup. His cheeks were flushed again when he emerged, but he was walking a little less gingerly.

I opened my arms and waited until he walked into my embrace before asking, “How are you feeling now?”

Dean leaned into my chest with a contented sigh. “Real good, Sammy. Still kinda sore in places, but the painkillers should help with that soon. Having a full stomach and warm clothes for the first time in forever feels pretty damn awesome. At this point, I’m just tired more than anything else.”

“How about your heat? Is that bothering you too much?”

“Nah, I’m actually doing kinda okay right now. I know it’s too soon for removing the implant to have much effect yet, but just knowing it’s gone, and knowing that I don’t hafta _service_ anyone no more, makes a _huge_ difference. Not hurting so much all over and not being cold or hungry helps a lot too.” He looked up, his gilded emerald eyes gleaming as they met mine. “Touching you, scenting you, even just being near you is what’s _really_ making me feel better though, and not just ‘cause you’re an alpha—it’s ‘cause it’s _you_.”

“Like I said before, you’re amazing! From what I’ve seen and heard about what heats are like for unmated omegas, you shouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything besides sex, but look at you! I don’t know if I could’ve held up as well if I’d been in your shoes,” I said.

“I _was_ like that in the beginning—don’t really remember much about the first coupla months after getting that fucking implant,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t let them, let _him_ win like that, so I forced myself to fight off the control of the damn hormones as much as I could. Even when I didn’t have a chance of getting away myself anymore, I had to keep holding on ‘cause I knew you’d come for me sooner or later.”

“I wish it _had_ been sooner, but all that matters now is that we’re together again. And if my presence helps you feel better, then I’ll give you all the cuddles you want—I remember how much you love chick-flick moments,” I teased.

“Shuddup, bitch!” he mumbled, then belied his protest by nuzzling his face into the V-neck of my undershirt.

“Right back at you, jerk! Since we’re both pretty wiped, why don’t we head to bed now?” Suiting actions to words, I took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

Dean approached the bed and pressed his hands into the thick comforter and pillow-top mattress. “Oh man! I can really sleep here tonight?”

I looked at him in surprise, frowning slightly. “Of course! You don’t think I’d make you sleep on the floor like some stereotypical asshole alpha, do you?”

He immediately shrank in on himself. “N—no, I—I know you’re better than that. It’s just been so—so long, and I didn’t wanna ass—assume . . .”

I mentally kicked myself as I hurried over and hugged him. “I’m sorry, Dee, I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re right to be concerned—ten years _is_ a long time, and no one stays the same. I promise you though that the important things _haven’t_ changed. You’re still my baby brother, and my goal is still to protect you and take care of you to the best of my ability.”

He relaxed in my arms. “I’m okay. I . . . I should know better than to be scared of _you_. It’s just that _he_ would get mad at me outta the blue sometimes and—”

“I get it. It’s going to take a while to get over what he did to you and to get used to me again.” I rubbed his shoulders comfortingly. “So don’t be afraid to ask if you’re not sure about anything, and I won’t be upset with you.”

“Okay, Sammy. I—I wish I wasn’t so damn jumpy ‘bout every little thing, but like you said, that ain’t gonna stop right away. The fucking heat and withdrawal ain’t helping either, but hopefully those will get better soon.” He took a deep breath and met my eyes. “Are you gonna sleep here too?”

“If you want me to, I will. The doctor said more contact between us should lessen your heat symptoms, but if you’re not comfortable sharing a bed, I can sleep on the couch or ask for a cot to be brought up. I don’t want you to feel forced into doing anything,” I said.

“No, I want you here—I missed sleeping together like when we were kids. But only if _you_ want it too, not just outta obligation or—or pity,” he stated.

“I missed it too, and I’ve been looking forward to sharing a bed again for a long time,” I assured him. “Just . . . don’t freak out if my body . . . uh, _reacts_ in an embarrassing way because of the—the pheromones. I swear that I have no intention of—”

Dean laid two fingers over my lips with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, I know you can’t control if you pop a boner while I’m still in heat. It’s probably happened at least once or twice already, right? But I trust you, okay? You’d never hurt me, and I’m safer here with you than anywhere else. Now, is that enough schmoopiness for one night?”

I grinned down at him. “Yeah, I’d say that’s plenty. Do you need to wash up before going to bed? You can borrow my toothbrush until we can get you your own toiletries tomorrow, or I can ask the concierge if they can send one up.”

“Nah, I think I’ll be okay waiting until I got my own stuff. My teeth was one of the few things _he_ let me take care of fairly regularly, probably because he wouldn’t get as good a price if my mouth was all gnarly. But skipping tonight shouldn’t be a big deal,” he replied, stifling a yawn.

I pulled back the covers and helped him climb into bed. Once he was comfortably settled, I got in on the other side and put an arm around his waist. He promptly shifted to curl up against me and rest his head against my shoulder. I pressed my lips into his hair and blinked back tears, feeling ridiculously happy as my little brother fell asleep in my arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's now safe in Sam's hotel room and is clean, comfortable, warm, and well-fed for the first time in years. He and Sam are starting to get used to each other again and to try to pick up their brotherly relationship after so long--as well as dealing with the awkward realities of suddenly seeing each other as attractive adults after a decade apart!
> 
> So I was supposed to post the next chapter to We'll Do That Together Too this weekend to keep up with the alternating posting schedule I'm trying to maintain. Unfortunately, that chapter isn't ready yet (that story doesn't have a buffer), so rather than skip the update this week, I've decided to post this chapter now and will hopefully post the next chapter for the shifter!Dean story next weekend instead. As always, constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. :)


	4. Get a Little Worn Down in Between

I woke up late the next morning to Dean wrapped around me, his erection pressing into my hip and mine throbbing against his thigh. The air was thick with his sweet scent, and he was uttering soft sounds of pleasure in his sleep. I froze in consternation and had to spend a couple of minutes getting my libido under control before trying to slide out from under him without waking him.

Despite my care, his eyes snapped open, gilded irises glowing, and he moaned, “ _Please_ , alpha!” Before I could react, he froze momentarily and then shook himself. When he glanced up again, his eyes had returned to the gold-edged green of the previous day, the heat within them banked.

He flushed in embarrassment. “Sorry ‘bout that, man! I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Dee. Morning wood is to be expected even under normal circumstances, and this situation is certainly above and beyond that. All things considered, your self-control is incredible!” I assured him as I sat up. “You just go back to sleep while I wash up.”

He nodded drowsily and snuggled back under the covers. Once he was asleep again, I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to wash up. Freshly showered, shaved, and dressed, I first contacted room service to order breakfast and then made a call to Sioux Falls. 

Bobby picked up after a few rings. “Singer Salvage, how can we help you?”

“Hey Bobby, it’s Sam. Is Ellen there? She’ll want to hear this too.” I waited while he hollered for her and then indicated that the phone was on speaker before continuing. “It’s finally happened—I have Dean back.”

“Well damn, son, that’s wonderful news!” Bobby said warmly. “Fill us in on what went down!”

“We were finally able to narrow down John’s location using that search algorithm Ash had set up, and then from there your friend Garth managed to find him in a crappy motel outside of Tulsa. He called me yesterday afternoon, and I notified Agent Henriksen and then flew out to Tulsa,” I explained. “The FBI and local cops arrested John and his cohorts, and I took custody of my brother.”

“What kinda shape is Dean in?” Ellen asked. “I can’t imagine that bastard was treating him well.”

“Not great, to be honest. As we suspected, John was pimping him out and letting his ‘customers’ rape him as well as physically abuse him. John also beat him, starved him, had an implant put in to keep him in heat, and doped him up to keep him under control,” I told them. “My first stop after getting him away was a decent clinic to treat his injuries, get rid of the implant, and start the detox process. We’re at a hotel in Tulsa now, and he’s looking better after a hot shower, decent meal, and proper night’s rest. But we don’t know how long it’s going to take for him to recover properly.”

“Damn that sonofabitch!” Bobby swore. “Let’s hope the Feds throw the book at him! The important thing now though is that you got Dean away from all that shit. What’re your plans at this point?”

“We have to stay here for a while until I can get legal custody transferred into my name. We’ve got an appointment tomorrow with the best lawyer in the area, and I’m hoping we can speed up the process as much as possible so I can take Dean home soon. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to take care of him and help him heal,” I answered.

“Let me know if you need me to testify or provide evidence for the custody hearing. I can get on the horn to Jim Murphy too so he can be ready too. Once that’s done, will you two stop by here on your way home?” he asked.

I hesitated briefly before responding, “Maybe some other time. I get that you’re eager to see him, but it’s best right now to get him home as soon as possible to let him recover. Besides, I don’t want to risk running afoul of South Dakota’s bullshit omega laws.”

“The boy’s right, old man. The last thing they need is for some busybody to call the authorities over Dean still being unclaimed at his age,” Ellen pointed out. “Sam, you do what you have to for your brother. We can come visit you in San Fran once Dean’s had time to settle in. Just keep us in the loop ‘til then.”

“Thanks to you both, and will do. I’ll call again soon.” I then hung up.

To my surprise, when the food was delivered shortly afterward, it came with a package labeled _Compliments of the Manager_. Inside were a grey fleece jacket, simple black leather collar, matching six-foot leash, and a jar of scent-suppressing cream. I was touched that the concierge on duty last night must’ve mentioned our situation to the manager, who in turn decided to help.

I returned to the bedroom to wake up my brother, and he followed me yawning into the living room. I set him down in front of a tray containing a small cheese omelet, hash browns, and a glass of orange juice and then applied myself to my own breakfast of oatmeal with maple sugar and raisins, sliced melon, and coffee. While he ate, I noted how much his appearance had improved already—his fair complexion was developing a healthier flush of color, his large eyes were clearer and brighter, and his finely-drawn features looked somewhat less haggard.

“Is that enough? Do you want to have some of the cheesecake or fruit salad from last night?” I asked when he finished his meal.

“I—I already ate the cheesecake. I got up in the middle of the night to use the can, and I ate it before going back to bed.” He glanced at me uncertainly through his long lashes. “Was—was that okay?”

“Hey, it’s _your_ dessert, man! The doc did say to have several small meals until your appetite is back to normal, so you should eat whenever you feel hungry,” I replied warmly. “Do you want me to get the fruit out now or save it for later?”

“Nah, I’m good. Right now, I wanna take that tub for a test drive!” He stretched languidly and sniffed himself, while I tried not to stare at the strip of bare belly revealed as his t-shirt rode up. “I don’t suppose there’s anything else I can change into afterward? Thanks to this fucking heat _and_ the withdrawal on top of that, these clothes are already pretty rank.”

“I can see if the concierge can send something up, and maybe ask if they can launder this stuff and the scrubs too. Once you’re dressed, we’re going out to get you enough clothes, shoes, toiletries, and whatever else you might need to last until we get back home, if that’s okay with you. But take as much time as you want for your bath—there’s no rush.” I smiled indulgently at him.

“Thanks, Sammy.” He smiled back shyly before going into the bathroom.

I made the call to the concierge and then opened up my laptop to research the list of omega shops the concierge had provided. I finally selected one that had an attached styling salon and was highly reviewed for the quality of not only its merchandise but also the treatment of its omega clientele. When an attendant brought up a long-sleeved white t-shirt and pair of grey athletic pants, both monogrammed like the jacket earlier with the hotel’s name and logo, I carried them into the bathroom and left them on the vanity, smiling fondly again at the humming and splashing coming from the tub alcove.

Dean eventually emerged from the bathroom, and I gave him his medications and helped him apply both the antibiotic cream and scent suppressor. Once he donned the loaner collar, we headed down to the lobby. He looked around with interest while we waited for the valet to bring the Tahoe around, as he hadn’t been awake to notice anything when we’d arrived last night. He seemed equally fascinated while staring out the window during the short drive to Utica Square. Ten years of being locked in drab motel rooms or chained to the floor of a dingy truck had undoubtedly left him starved for stimulation, and it took some effort to not become furious all over again at our bastard of a father.

I parked near the center of the open-air shopping center and gave my brother a few minutes to take in the tree-lined lanes, well-tended gardens, and upscale shops and boutiques around us. After snapping the end of the leash onto his collar and slipping the loop over my wrist, I tucked his hand into the crook of my elbow and gently steered him towards our destination, a fairly large store named Précieux. I held the door open to let him enter first before following.

The interior was a pleasant surprise. Most omega stores I’d seen were some kind of sleazy cross between a sex shop and pet store, and the products sold were often of dubious quality. Précieux however looked like a smaller version of a high-end department store, with polished faux-marble flooring, gleaming glass and chrome display cases, and tastefully arranged racks and tables of goods. The section closest to the door was devoted to women’s wear, and what we could see were pleasingly designed and crafted from the finest materials—Supima cotton, Merino wool, cashmere, silk, and linen.

A sales associate, a young man in his late teens with “Michael” on his nametag, approached us. His welcoming expression changed when his gaze fell on the bruises on Dean’s face, and he glared at me while saying icily, “I’m sorry, _sir_ , but I’m afraid you have the wrong store. We don’t cater to your kind here.”

Before I could say anything, my brother stepped closer to me and took my hand. “You got this all wrong, kid. Sam didn’t do this to me—in fact, he got me away from the douchebags who did!”

“Are you sure?” Michael asked, still looking skeptical. “If you need help, we can call the proper authorities. You don’t have to stay with this man if he’s—”

“Listen, I appreciate that you’re trying to look out for me, but Sammy’s _not_ like that. He’s my big brother, and he’s always done his best to take care of me. It ain’t his fault that other people took me from him and treated me like shit until he could find me again,” Dean interrupted. “If you don’t believe me, talk to the FBI dude who arrested those asshats thanks to Sam!”

“One of the reasons we chose to come here is your store’s record of treating the omegas who come here well. I’m glad to see that you’re upholding that reputation and looking out for your customers,” I put in with a smile, trying to calm everyone down.

“Sorry, sir. My little brother Asher won’t be old enough to be mated for a while, but the thought of anyone hurting him . . . I hope you’re not too pissed.” The young beta looked abashed. “And yes, our founder loved his mate very much, and he built this company to provide a place where oms can be pampered and cherished the way he felt they deserved. Our stores are one of the few where the merchandise is selected with what _they_ want in mind, not their owners.”

“I’ll never be upset at someone wanting to help my brother,” I assured him. “Now, could you direct us to where the clothing for male omegas is?”

He nodded and pointed. “Go down the main aisle past all the ladies’ clothes, and the men’s area will be on your left. After that is the sleepwear and undergarments department for both sexes, and shoes and outerwear are on the other side of the aisle. If you need any more help, you can call for me or one of the other associates.”

I thanked him, and then we followed his directions to the menswear section. Racks and tables displayed a variety of casual, active, and more formal clothing, while display cases held a wide selection of accessories. Up close, I could see what Michael meant about the products being geared toward omegas’ tastes—while still visually appealing, the designs focused more on comfort, the materials were soft to the touch, and the colors were either light and soothing or bright and warm. While some of the styles seemed little different than typical men’s garments, others veered closer to women’s fashion.

Dean stared at everything with a stunned expression. “Damn! This is a helluva big difference from the bargain bin stuff we used to get!”

“I know, right? I remember the challenge of trying to stretch twenty bucks as far as I could at the thrift store whenever I had a growth spurt or of figuring out how to take in my hand-me-downs to fit you!” I reminisced. “But we don’t have to worry about that anymore, or of only carrying around what we each could fit in one duffel bag and backpack.”

“I—I dunno . . . this shit looks really expensive, Sam. Are you sure you wanna spend this kinda money? You know I’d be okay with getting some jeans and t-shirts at Wally World. And this is on top of what the clinic visit last night musta cost, and the swanky hotel room, and the lawyer fees for the custody stuff, and everything else. You—you don’t hafta waste so much just on me,” he said, glancing down at his feet.

I placed two fingers under his chin and tilted his face up to look into his eyes. “Listen to me, Dee—you are worth _everything_ to me, understand? Every penny I spent over the past ten years to find you was money well-spent now that you’re safe again. Buying you your own things for the first time in your life at a place like this is a drop in the bucket compared to that, and it’s still only a fraction of what you deserve.”

“O—okay, if you say so. What should I get?”

I dropped my hand to his shoulder and gave it a squeeze before unclipping the leash from his collar. “Pick out whatever you want, kiddo. And don’t worry about what anyone else might expect—this is about what _you_ like.”

Dean still looked uncertain as he began to wander among the racks. He initially gravitated towards the predictable options of jeans, tees, and flannel shirts, but after giving him some encouraging smiles and gestures, he started to broaden his choices. He periodically came over to where I was sitting near the sales desk to deposit his finds on one of the empty chairs. When the pile started to overflow the chair, I helped him carry everything into one of the dressing rooms.

“I—I’m not gonna get all of this. I just wanna try ‘em out and weed out what don’t fit or look right,” he told me a bit anxiously. “Is that alright?”

“Relax, man—today is all about _you_. Take as much time as you want, and keep as much as you like. I don’t mind waiting while you play Dress-up Barbie,” I replied with a grin.

“Shuddup, dork!” He elbowed me and then looked startled at his reflexive reaction.

“Consider yourself lucky that you’re so adorable, brat! I’ll be sitting out there, if you want to show me anything.” I indicated the seating area in front of a mirror-lined alcove in the middle of the dressing rooms.

The pungent color commentary emanating from his booth as I checked my email on my phone while waiting suggested that his initial choices hadn’t met his approval. Eventually he emerged to show me a series of outfits, shyly at first but with increasing confidence at my positive reactions. Much of what he’d selected looked like what I’d find in my own closet at first glance, but the omega-oriented styling showed in the closer fit and subtle details, such as metallic embroidery down the outer leg seams and on the back pockets of a pair of jeans or a delicate scrollwork pattern woven into the fabric of a Henley shirt. 

After getting enough tops and pants to last at least a couple of weeks, along with socks, belts, a watch, and a few pieces of jewelry to go with them, we stocked up on pajama bottoms, under shirts, boxer-briefs, a robe, and slippers in the intimates department, a couple pairs of low boots in the shoe department, a fitted green military jacket from outerwear, and the necessary toiletries from the personal care section. Dean got sidetracked into the bedding section, resulting in a soft quilted sofa blanket and a couple plush throw pillows added to our purchases, and we got him a matched set of shower bag, overnight bag, and rolling suitcases to carry his new possessions later.

Our last stop was the display of collars and matching leashes, and it was rather impressive. The collars were made from supple, top-grade leather and padded with wool, fleece, or even fur for comfort. Most were decorated with embossing, embroidery, ribbon, charms, gemstones (faux or real), or other embellishments and resembled jewelry or works of art more than mere marks of ownership. The leashes were generally simpler but designed with coordinating colors and materials.

Dean gaped again at the selection. “Dude, these don’t look like any collars I’ve ever seen!”

“It makes sense for a store like this, which wants omegas to feel good about themselves,” I pointed out. “We can get more than one that you like, so you have some variety to choose from.”

He tried several on and ended up picking three new collars: one in braided black with a set of bracelet-like nickel links in front, one in chocolate brown with alternating tiger eye and plain brass studs, and one in Kelly green with a center strip of hunter green set with emerald and black diamond Swarovski crystals. This was the first time I could recall his being pleased with getting a collar, since growing up we generally could only afford the cheapest, most basic models.

We then dropped off all the bags in the car and went to the salon next door, which I’d called ahead while he was in the dressing room earlier. He got his hair cut short in an artfully tousled fashion that the stylist insisted required several types of expensive product to maintain, and I also ordered a manicure and facial simply to pamper him. The stylists here, like the sales associates in the main store, were helpful without being condescending, and one was even kind enough to run to the nearby Starbucks to get him a ham and Swiss panini and cinnamon dolce crème steamer when he got hungry.

After leaving the shopping center, we detoured to an electronics store to purchase a tablet and MP3 player for my brother’s entertainment. On the drive back to the hotel, he kept stroking his new collar or fingering the beading on his jeans with a shyly content smile, which warmed my heart. I’d also noticed throughout the day’s excursions how agitated he got whenever another alpha was nearby, and how much calmer he generally was when touching and scenting me. 

At the hotel, we had to have a bellhop assist with bringing everything up to our room, and Dean immediately dumped the bags of clothes on the bed, admitting, “I kinda wanna roll in all this, man. Everything’s so _soft_ and—and pretty!”

“It’s your stuff, so as long as you clear it up before we go to sleep—and are willing to iron out the wrinkles!—knock yourself out,” I told him in amusement.

He contemplated the idea for a moment but then satisfied himself with removing the tags and folding the garments. I helped him put them away in the dresser and closet and the toiletries in the bathroom, and then he polished off the fruit salad from last night and a protein shake the doctor had recommended. By this point he was beginning to run out of steam, so I left him to nap in the bedroom while I set up my laptop in the living room and attempted to catch up on some work.

He came out of the bedroom a couple hours later, wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a blue under shirt and looking adorably rumpled. The suppressing cream had worn off by now, but his scent wasn’t as pheromone-laden as the previous day, suggesting that his heat was starting to let up. He joined me on the couch, curling up into my side and resting his head on my shoulder.

I slid an arm around his back and gave him a squeeze. “How are you feeling, kiddo?”

“Not too bad. Think this heat shit is finally going away, since this is the least funky and horny I’ve felt in ages,” he replied. “Still feeling kinda achy and twitchy though from the dope withdrawal, so I think I’m gonna camp out in the bathtub for a while.”

“Let’s get something to eat first, so that you can also take some more ibuprofen,” I suggested. “What would you like?”

After ordering fettucine alfredo with chicken and broccoli, garlic bread, apple pie, and milkshakes, as well as fruit, yogurt, and other snacks for later, through room service, Dean looked up at me and said, “I wanna thank you for today, Sammy. Not just for how _awesome_ all the stuff is, but . . . I haven’t been allowed to have anything of my own for so long, so this means a lot.”

“You’re welcome, and this is just the beginning. And speaking of things of your own, wait right here.” I went into the bedroom, pulled a small cloth pouch out of my executive satchel, and returned. I handed the pouch to him and continued, “I’ve kept this with me ever since you were taken away.”

He opened the pouch and upended it, and his eyes widened as the bronze amulet I’d given him when we were kids, hanging on a new leather cord, fell into his hand. “I—I never thought I’d see this again! I figured _he_ threw it away when he took me.”

I shook my head. “No, he intentionally left it on top of my acceptance letter that night, I assume as part of his final ‘Fuck you’ to the both of us. I wanted to give it back sooner, but you were too wiped last night, and we were pretty busy earlier today.”

His hands trembled as he hung the amulet around his neck, and then he flung his arms around me. “Dude, you’re the _best_! I know it ain’t much compared to everything else, but I—I haven’t felt right without this.”

I hugged him back tightly. “I know how much this amulet means to you, to _both_ of us—which is precisely why John tried to take it away. But we’re not going to let him hurt either of us ever again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is another completely canon-divergent AU like Nothing Else Matters, I don't see the need to bring in OCs unless absolutely necessary, not when SPN has such a huge cast of characters, both major and minor, to choose from. So any character in this story who's mentioned by name, like Dr. Garrison in the 2nd chapter and Michael here, is based on someone from the show. If they have only a minor impact on the story though, they won't show up in the tags.
> 
> One thing I don't like is when A/B/O stories feminize the male omega characters too much, which is something I try my best to avoid in mine--Dean should still be readily recognizable as the canon character regardless of being an omega. That being said, I can also see how the gender roles for male omegas (and female alphas) could be more blurred in a society like this, and one indication of this is how male omega fashion designs are broader than typical menswear. I couldn't quite imagine our Dean in full-on women's blouses or anything, but much of what he picked out has more feminine details. I do also like how some stories have omegas be more tactile and liking soft, warm things, so I added that here as well. As for the collars, look up "luxury pet collars" to get an idea of the options out there.
> 
> One of the challenges with ageswap stories is figuring out how various aspects of the canon story would be affected if Sam was the older brother and Dean the younger--like in a more canon-compliant fic, is Sam still the one Azazel went after, or is it now Dean? In this case, I decided that the Samulet is too iconic as the symbol of Sam's love for his brother, so it had to still belong to Dean. The circumstances of how Sam gave it to Dean were undoubtedly different, given the changes in their overall situation and relationship with their father, and we'll have to see if that tale comes up later or not.
> 
> I'm still on an alternating schedule with a couple other stories, so the next update will be in ~3 weeks. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos make my day. :)


	5. Like a Bull Chasing the Matador

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there is a brief description of the abuse Dean suffered in this chapter. As before, nothing is graphic or detailed, but please take care if this could disturb you.

I opened my eyes, momentarily wondering why I was awake in the middle of the night. Then I heard the whimpering beside me and turned to see Dean tossing restlessly in his sleep. I pulled him into my arms and gently shook his shoulder to wake him.

His eyes shot open with a loud gasp, and then he shrank away. “So—sorry, Sam, I di—didn’t mean to wake you up!”

“Hey buddy, calm down. It’s okay—I’m not mad at you. Bad dreams are to be expected after what you’ve been through,” I murmured, trying to coax him closer.

He relaxed and moved back into my embrace. “Sorry again, man. It’s just that _he_ would get pissed off if I woke him up like that, and I guess I forgot for a moment that I wasn’t with him anymore.”

I rubbed his back soothingly, careful to avoid the worst of the healing welts. “I get it, Dee. That’s going to take time to get over too, just like everything else. Go back to sleep now, okay?”

The next time I woke was around my usual time. Dean was deeply asleep, his head resting on my shoulder and an arm and leg thrown over me. The scent of his heat pheromones was even fainter than last night, but to my embarrassment I was still sporting an urgent erection. 

I slipped out of bed, leaving my brother sleeping while I ordered breakfast, showered, and changed. Once the food arrived, I woke him up, smiling at his hedgehog hair and grumpy expression. His mood improved as he tucked into the strawberry lemon ricotta pancakes, yogurt parfait, and tropical fruit smoothie.

“Man, that was awesome!” he declared after demolishing most of it and putting the rest in the fridge for later. “D’ya think I could . . . uh, have some coffee soon though?”

“I didn’t want to risk it upsetting your stomach before. But since you’ve been handling your meals pretty well so far, maybe we can try some tomorrow morning. Today though, I’m afraid you can’t camp out too long in the tub,” I told him. “We’ve got an appointment with the lawyer in about an hour, and we can’t afford to be late. My executive assistant said it was pretty tough to get onto his schedule so soon.”

He looked at me curiously at that, and I noted that the gold in his eyes had retreated to only a few flecks. “You already know the basics about what happened to me, but you haven’t really said anything ‘bout what you’ve been doing in the past ten years. All I know is that you’ve got way more dough than befor and apparently your own personal secretary, and that’s it. I assume you ain’t into something shady since you’re hanging with the Feds, but . . .”

“No, it’s definitely nothing crooked or underhanded! Sorry, I haven’t meant to come across as secretive—there just hasn’t been a good opportunity for a proper heart-to-heart, I guess,” I said ruefully. “There isn’t time now, but we should have time to talk later today. Speaking of which, Agent Henriksen wants to meet with us this afternoon to get our official statements.”

“Oh . . . Does that—that mean we hafta go where they’re kee—keeping _him_ locked up?” He started to shiver, his face pale.

I put a comforting arm around his shoulders. “No, I figured going to the local resident agency would be unnecessarily stressful, so I asked Henriksen to come here instead. I reserved the smaller conference room downstairs for the meeting, so there won’t be any strange alpha scents in our suite either.”

“Thanks, Sammy!” He pressed his face into my arm for a moment before getting up and going into the bathroom.

Dean came out in less than half an hour, wearing slim-fit jeans with a metallic golden sheen to the weave, a pale green thermal top with black knotwork embroidery around the neckline and sleeves, silver ring, mala bracelet of wooden skull beads, the brown collar, and of course his amulet. We then drove into downtown Tulsa to a modern glass and concrete office building. Our destination was on the top floor, where we waited in the firm’s reception area for a few minutes before being directed to one of the corner offices.

The man waiting inside didn’t resemble any lawyer I’d ever seen. Balthazar Benelohim was a tall, lean blond dressed in dark skinny jeans, a grey t-shirt with a deep V-neck, and black velvet blazer. He not only shared the same last name as my friend Castiel but also the same strange lack of alpha, omega, or even beta scent, instead smelling faintly of ozone and incense. He was leaning against a large executive desk when we came in but gestured us towards a seating area with two leather armchairs and a small sofa arranged around a square glass coffee table. After Dean and I sat on the soda, he walked over and sprawled in an armchair.

“You should know before we begin that I don’t usually take cases like this—I have better things to do than waste my time on tawdry custody battles to determine which arsehole alpha gets the privilege of abusing some poor omega,” he announced, his lip curling as he eyed my brother’s bruises. “You’re only here now because your _very_ insistent assistant dropped Cas’ name, and my brother verified that you do indeed volunteer at his center and supposedly have some redeeming qualities.”

“So you and Cas _are_ family?” I asked curiously. “The surname is very distinctive, but I didn’t want to assume.”

“Yes, yes, Castiel and I go way back. Now, how about you explain why I should bother with your case?” He leaned back and steepled his fingers, a cynical expression on his face.

I frowned slightly at his flippant attitude before responding. “Well, everything started when our mother died when Dean was six months old, not too long after my fourth birthday. Someone broke into our house one night to try to snatch him from his nursery and killed her when she attempted to stop him. The authorities later determined the culprit was a rogue demon who had a taste for omega babies, and this was of course long before the Hell Accords.

“Our father didn’t handle losing his mate well and became obsessed with finding her killer. He sold our house and his half of his auto repair shop and began dragging us all over the country in search of leads. He refused to believe the truth when the demon was finally caught—he claimed the attacker had yellow eyes instead of the usual solid black and became convinced that there was some grand conspiracy to open Hell’s gates to unleash an army of demons, with the babies taken to be raised as its commanding officers.”

Balthazar quirked an eyebrow. “Anything behind these tinfoil-hat theories?”

“No, definitely not. Our grandfather Samuel personally handled the demon’s interrogation before it was destroyed, since his daughter was one of the victims, and made sure there was no shadow of a doubt regarding its guilt. The police found enough . . . remains of its other victims to confirm that it was simply eating the babies it took. And Crowley himself later provided documentation that none of the Princes of Hell were anywhere near any of the abduction sites at the time,” I replied firmly. 

“Wait, do you mean Samuel _Campbell_? As in the former assistant director of the Federal Agency of Supernatural Affairs and current president of the Campbell Hunter Academy?” he asked in surprise.

I nodded. “Our mother Mary was his only child, and he trained her to be a hunter like the rest of the Campbell cousins despite her omega status, as well as let her choose her own mate. He naturally took a particular interest in the investigation into her death and was instrumental in catching the demon. He also never approved of John and has helped me with tracking him down more recently.

“By all accounts, John wasn’t a bad mate or father before Mom’s death, but he changed radically after as his mental state deteriorated. He became increasingly suspicious of and derogatory towards omegas in general, and he blamed and hated Dean in particular,” I continued. “He was a terrible parent overall—he drank too much, left us alone too often, tried to force us into hunting too young, and more—but he was noticeably worse with Dean, more likely to be neglectful of his needs and to be violently angry toward him at the slightest excuse. I quickly learned not to leave my brother alone with him, even for a few minutes to go to the vending machine, or I’d come back to find Dean bruised and in tears.

“I eventually determined that I had to get Dean away from him permanently, so I began gathering evidence with the intent to transfer custody to myself as soon as I reached legal majority and then take him with me when I went to college. Unfortunately, John must’ve somehow figured out what I was planning. He slipped me a sedative the night before my eighteenth birthday, and I woke up the following morning to discover that he’d taken my fourteen-year-old brother and run.

“I’ve spent the ten years since that day searching for Dean. There’s still a lot of what happened during that time that I don’t know about yet, but we—myself and those who’ve been helping me—were able to track down enough witnesses and medical records to determine that John was beating him frequently and often severely, prostituting him, and allowing the johns to mistreat him as well. We were finally able to corner him in Okmulgee two nights ago, where the FBI arrested him and I took Dean away,” I said in conclusion.

Balthazar looked at Dean. “How about we hear _your_ side of the story regarding how John Winchester treated you, hmm?”

Dean glanced down and bit his lip, then took a deep breath and met the lawyer’s eyes. “It wasn’t so bad when we were growing up together— _he_ wasn’t around most of the time, and Sam did his best to shield me when he was. Still, I—I never understood why _he_ hated me so much, how what happened to our mom coulda been my fault when I was just a baby. When I was little, I tried my best to please him, to—to earn his love, but nothing ever worked, and eventually I figured out it was safest just to avoid him as much as I could.

“ _He_ roofied me too the night he took me away, and I didn’t know where we were when I woke up. At first, he just made me take care of him—cook his meals, keep the motel room clean, maintain his gear, tend his wounds, sometimes even serve as bait on a hunt. He smacked me around whenever I messed up or he was in a bad mood or drunk or just ‘cause it was a day ending in ‘Y,’ so I was usually pretty banged up. When he caught me writing a letter to send to our Uncle Bobby, he broke most of the fingers in my right hand and threatened to cut ‘em off if I did it again. The first time I tried to run away, he beat me so bad that I could barely breathe for weeks after, the next time he broke both my legs, and after that he kept me chained up twenty-four seven and started starving me and eventually doping me up to keep me weak.

“I survived that shit for nearly two years, and—and then everything _really_ turned into a living hell. The day that I turned sixteen, _he_ sold my virginity on some online auction site and le—let three rich alpha douchebags take turns ra—ra—raping me all night. After that, I had to—to _service_ a string of johns whenever he moved us to a new location or he started running low on cash again. He had some shitty doctor install an implant to keep me in heat so that the constant ass—assaults wouldn’t damage me so—so much. _That_ was my fu—fucking life until Sam rescued me.” He was shaking violently now, tears streaking his face, and I wrapped my arms around him to comfort him.

Balthazar cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable at the sight of the omega’s distress. “Right, so we can clearly establish that John Winchester is a sick bastard who doesn’t deserve custody of his younger son. However, what says that _you’re_ any better, Sam?”

I raised my head and glared at him. “Because I’ve devoted my entire life to taking care of my little brother! I spent my own childhood raising and protecting him, and I’ve never regretted one moment of it. I initially planned my college career around getting him away from John and giving him the safety and stability he needed. When John kidnapped him instead, I earned my hunting license while at college solely to have extra money to put towards finding him. I gave up my original professional goals in order to start up a software company with a friend to once again have the resources needed to track him down. And I stayed in California because it’s among the best states for omega rights in the country.”

Balthazar snapped his fingers. “ _That’s_ where I heard your name before! You and that redhead girl are behind that _Supernatural_ computer game that everyone’s crazy about, aren’t you? And you made a big splash recently by converting it into a training simulation for hunters that first the Campbell Academy and then the entire FASA have adopted.”

“That’s right. Which also means that I can provide for Dean in ways that John can’t even come close to. I have a steady job that gives me an ample income, whereas John scraped by with odd jobs, hustling cards and pool, and credit card fraud after losing his hunter’s license and before the prostitution. I’ve lived in San Francisco since graduating from Stanford four years ago and bought a house there last year, while John hasn’t stayed in the same place for more than a couple months in over two decades. I have plenty of family and friends to help me give Dean the support and care he needs, whereas no decent person has associated with John in years. Lastly, my criminal record is virtually spotless, while John will be spending the rest of his life in a mental institution if he’s lucky or a federal penitentiary if he’s not,” I explained.

“Why are the Feds involved exactly?” the lawyer inquired. “The abuse, solicitation, and other shady business like the fraud warrant jail time for certain, but not at the federal level or a lifetime sentence.”

Dean sat up and scrubbed at his cheeks before answering. “’Cause hurting me ain’t the only fucked-up shit _he_ did. Part of his going cuckoo for Coco Puffs after Mom died was deciding that anything supernatural was evil and had to be ganked. He was a legit hunter when we were real little but lost his license after a coupla years for being too violent. Uncle Bobby and other friends slipped him small jobs under the table for a while, ‘til they found out he’d gone full vigilante and was killing the vamps, weres, and others he caught instead of turning ‘em over to be tried properly.”

“The FBI has an extensive list of murder, assault, kidnapping, and other related charges to accuse John with, on top of what he did to Dean, and I imagine they’ll find evidence for even more crimes before he goes to trial,” I added. “I doubt he’ll be getting out before dying of old age in custody.”

“Excellent! This should be an open-and-shut case, provided we can document your claims. It might also serve as a good precedent for some of the work I’ve been trying to do to reform the custody laws in this miserable place.” Balthazar stood and rubbed his hands together briskly. “I presume you’d rather not linger here for months waiting for a hearing, so you’ll want to expedite the process as much as possible.”

“That’s correct—the sooner I can get Dean settled at home the better, so whatever we can do to move this along would be appreciated. I have copies of most of the information I’ve gathered right here, and my assistant can send you the rest.” I patted the bulging leather satchel at my feet. “I can ask Agent Henriksen to provide you with anything he collects that might be pertinent to the custody case as well.”

“Will—will I have to testify at the hearing? And will _he_ be there?” Dean looked back and forth between the two of us.

“It’s unlikely you’ll be called up in court—the case against your old man appears quite overwhelming, and most judges don’t consider omega testimony reliable anyway, as ridiculous as that is. John _will_ be there, but don’t worry, dear boy—he’ll be on the other side of the room _and_ securely restrained. You won’t even have to look at the miserable little prick if you don’t want to,” Balthazar assured him.

Balthazar walked over to sit at his desk, and his assistant brought in several forms. I filled in the necessary paperwork to file for sole legal and physical custody of my brother and to request an expedited hearing and wrote a check for the required fees. After the lawyer reviewed the completed forms and handed them back to his assistant, we discussed the next possible steps. I turned over my documentation and promised to get the rest to him as soon as possible, and then Dean and I left his office.

Before returning to the hotel, we headed over to a nearby barbeque restaurant and found a secluded booth in the back, where no one could disapprove that Dean sat on the bench across from me instead of on a kneeling cushion on the floor. He ordered a brisket sandwich with spicy slaw, and I picked the pulled chicken sandwich with green beans. Once the waiter dropped off our sodas, we were left to our privacy.

“Guess I got an idea now about what you’ve been doing. I . . . I feel bad though that you gave up on your dreams just to help me.” Dean hunched his shoulders and looked down. “I remember how much you wanted to be an omega rights lawyer, like that Balty guy but less hipster.”

I put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “It’s not that I gave up on my dreams, Dee—they just changed. Plenty of kids come to college thinking they want a certain career, only to find something else that suits them better. I’ll admit, a big reason why I turned away from law was that the insane hours most firms demanded of new associates wouldn’t have left me any time for the search. And my main goal for the money I’ve made has always been to find and then provide for you. But after becoming friends with Charlie, brainstorming about the game idea, and starting our own company, I realized that I really did want to do this for its own sake as well.”

He gave me a shy smile. “That’s good to hear, Sammy. So tell me ‘bout this _Supernatural_ game then.”

I returned his smile and leaned back. “It started one night early in our sophomore year when we were drinking and bitching about some of the crappy games we’d played before, and I was venting in particular about how unrealistic those so-called ‘hunter’ games usually were. Somehow we realized that between my actual hunting experience and her game design talent, we could build a better mousetrap ourselves. It started out as a single-player game where your best friend dies mysteriously, so you have to figure out what happened to them while learning to hunt, and the decisions you make along the way changes how the game progresses. We later added a multi-player mode to let you go on hunts with friends, and we’re in the process of developing an MMO version as well.

“To go back to when this first started, we both decided after that night to pursue a joint undergrad major in computer science and economics, and we started working on the game as our senior project. Charlie then got her master’s in computer science, while I went for a joint comp-sci MS/MBA program, and we both kept working on the game throughout grad school. We actually launched our start-up before we graduated using her inheritance from her parents’ death and my share of the Campbell family fund and opened up our first office in San Francisco as soon as we were out of school.

“The initial release of the game did really well, far better than we expected, and we started expanding, hiring more people, and working on improvements. We also began development on the training simulator, which had been one of my goals from the beginning. Campbell Hunting Academy acting as a beta tester and then Samuel endorsing the software for FASA went a long way towards its successful rollout a couple years ago. We’re now working on incorporating VR to move the simulator beyond the desktop,” I explained.

“Dude, that sounds pretty awesome! Maybe . . . I could check out your game sometime?” He paused while our food was set in front of us before asking, “So are you and this Charlie chick . . . together?”

I laughed at the thought. “Oh gods no! She’s my best friend, but that’s it—and I have the wrong plumbing for her tastes anyway. Between everything going on, I haven’t had the energy to be concerned about dating for the past few years.”

“Oh, okay.” He looked . . . relieved? “What’s the deal with the Campbells though? How come we never heard of ‘em being family when we were younger?”

“According to their family lore, the Campbells have been hunters for centuries, first in England and then here—they even claim some of them came across on the _Mayflower_ ,” I said after munching on a few green beans. “What is known is that they founded the first training academy for hunters in the colonies and were instrumental in establishing what eventually became FASA. They’re the oldest and most influential hunting dynasty in North America, and the family is richer than Croesus. Each adult member is entitled to a share of the family wealth, and as the only alpha grandson of the head of the family, my portion turned out to be pretty substantial.

“We didn’t know about our relationship to them before for a few reasons. Mom apparently wanted to get as far away as possible from hunting and Samuel’s ambitions, and she was upset that he disapproved of her choice of mate, so she cut all ties to her family when she and John eloped. Samuel still kept tabs on her and her children from a distance, but he lost track of us when John left Lawrence and began dragging us all over the place. He got in contact with me after I came to Stanford, and now he and the others will be eager to meet you as soon as they can,” I told him.

“Are you sure ‘bout that? I—I’m just an om, and it was my—my fault that Mom was killed.” Dean hunched down again, his scent distressed.

“Hey now, none of that! Don’t you listen to any of John’s bullshit!” I reached over and caught his hands. “The only one to blame for Mom’s death is that demon, okay? She gave her life to protect you because she loved you—and by all accounts, she fucked up the demon so badly before she died that it had to flee and leave you behind. We’re not going to let _his_ irrational prejudices take that away from her.”

“You—you’re right. Mom sounds like she was pretty badass. I wish I coulda known her,” he responded wistfully.

I squeezed his hands. “I wish you could’ve too, kiddo. As for her family, they’re very progressive—although some of that stems from this intrinsic belief that simply being a Campbell makes them superior no matter what. They trained their sisters and daughters in the family business long before female hunters were accepted anywhere else, and I mentioned before that Samuel taught Mom all about hunting despite her designation. Even if they’re not raised as hunters, Campbell omegas generally are allowed to select their own mates. They even have a share of the family fund, which is used kind of like a dowry to support them and their children if their chosen mate isn’t well off.”

“Does that mean that _I_ got a share too?” His green eyes were wide in astonishment.

I grinned at his expression. “Yes, you do, and part of Mom’s as well. She’d used some of hers as a down payment on the house in Lawrence and for John’s share of the auto shop, and the rest was kept in trust for you. Legally speaking, you can’t access any of it directly, but if you choose a mate who can’t support you to the family’s standards or decide not to take a mate at all, the money will be made available to help you.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before saying, “This is a lot to take in, man. Two days ago, I didn’t have nothing, not even fucking control over my own damn body. Now I have my own stuff for the first time in ten years, I got family I didn’t even know I had, and apparently that comes with family money too! Most of all, I finally got you back, and that . . . that’s _everything_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are taking the next major step in getting John out of their lives and moving on. Meeting with an omega-rights attorney and getting him to agree to take their case is the first move in Sam gaining legal custody over his little brother, though they still have the hearing to get through. We also got to hear more of what Dean had to suffer through and some of what Sam was doing in the past decade.
> 
> As I mentioned before, part of the fun with an AU setting is finding new uses for parts of the vast cast of characters SPN has. In this case, I thought it would be fun and rather different to place the charming and snarky Balthazar as the attorney Sam seeks out. One issue of course is that the canon Balthazar, like all angels, had no surname. I'm not a proponent of angels using their vessels' last names (e.g. Castiel Novak), particularly since in many cases these angels have essentially stolen their host from their family, and we don't know the name of Balthazar's vessel anyway. I created the name Benelohim instead, which comes from "bene elohim," a phrase meaning "sons of God" found in Hebrew scriptures and Christian apocrypha which some interpret to refer to angels.
> 
> In case it wasn't already clear, in this setting the supernatural is known and accepted, with vamps, weres, and other "monsters" as much a part of society as humans. Hunters here serve as a combination of police and animal control, arresting violent sentient creatures and exterminating dangerous non-sentient creatures that their mundane counterparts aren't trained or equipped to handle. So hunters aren't secretive, revenge-driven rogues--they're regulated and trained and receive pay and benefits like other government employees. And hunting families like the Campbells are as well-known and well-connected at the Kennedys, Rockefellers, etc.
> 
> The next update for this story should be in a couple of weeks, since I've finished one of the stories I've been alternating this with. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and kudos and comments are highly appreciated. :)


	6. Is the Man Left to His Own Schemes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are once again brief, non-graphic mentions of the traumatic acts Dean experienced, so please take care if these might upset you.

Upon returning to our suite, we had a couple hours until our meeting with Henriksen, so Dean elected to take another long bath. I knew this was mostly to relieve the aches from his injuries and drug withdrawal, and likely also for the novelty after a lifetime of dinky, grubby motel showers. However, I was glad the master bath at home had a nice soaker tub, in case this turned into a habit.

While Dean happily splashed away, I decided to give Charlie a quick call. I’d texted her while at the clinic two nights ago and answered some work-related emails yesterday, but I figured she and the others could use an update. I didn’t need one of them suddenly showing up to make sure I was alright if I waited too long.

Charlie picked up on the second ring. “Hey, took you long enough to finally call, dude! Everyone here was starting to get worried! We were getting the Mountie-bots programmed and everything!”

“Sorry about that! It’s been a busy couple of days,” I responded.

“I’ll bet! I saw from your text that your long quest was finally successful, which is seriously awesome-sauce! How is Dean doing now?” she asked. “Since you were texting from a clinic in the middle of the night, I’m guessing he wasn’t in the greatest of shape when you got him away.”

“Yeah, it was pretty bad, even worse than what I expected. What John did to him these past ten years . . . I’m not going into detail, because it should be Dean’s call as to how much other people know about what happened to him. The important thing is that he’s doing a lot better now, though he still has a long way to go before recovering completely,” I said.

“I hear that, man. How much longer do you expect to be there?”

“I have to get legal custody transferred to my name first—I don’t want to risk travelling such a long distance until that’s resolved. We met with a lawyer this morning who’s going to try to get the hearing expedited, but even with that I don’t know how long until we get on the family court docket,” I explained. “I’m going to assume it’ll be at least a couple more weeks before we can leave, and then it’ll take us a few days to drive back because I don’t want to tire Dean out too much.”

“That’s okay—I figured this was gonna take a while. Fortunately nothing major is coming up anytime soon, so we should be able to hold the fort down ‘til you get back. So what about your da—I mean, John? I assume the Feds have him in custody?”

I got up to grab a bottle of water and a protein shake out of the fridge while answering. “That’s right. Dean and I are meeting with Victor this afternoon to give him our statements. After that, I figure his team will need time to process all the evidence, so I assume it’ll be a while before the actual trial begins. Victor’s aware of exactly how dangerous the man is, so he’ll have John kept under tight security until then.”

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed and make the appropriate sacrifices to the Great Old Ones that everything works out. You focus on taking care of your brother for now. Just touch base regularly and give me a heads-up when you get a better idea about what’s going on,” she replied.

“Will do. Besides, I’ll still be logging in remotely for at least a couple of hours on most days, so I should be able to keep up on the major stuff,” I pointed out. We talked for a little longer about work-related topics before ending the call.

I took the protein shake and went into the bathroom, where I knocked on the doorway leading into the tub alcove. Modesty had been fairly meaningless growing up in cramped motel rooms with even tinier bathrooms. I’d been responsible for dressing and bathing my little brother for years, and even after he was old enough to take care of himself, we’d regularly changed around each other without any shame. However, that had been before he’d really hit puberty and more importantly before he’d spent a decade not being allowed even the slightest shred of dignity. Respecting his privacy now was the _least_ I could do.

Dean called out, “Come in, Sammy! What’s up?”

I cautiously dropped my gaze, intending to focus on his face, and then grinned when I realized he was covered up to his shoulders in jasmine-scented bubbles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your bubble bath! I just thought that if you’re going to be in here for a while, you should have one of these.”

He took the offered can and popped it open. “Thanks, man! We still got some time before the meeting, right? So what’s deal with this Henriksen dude? How long have you known him?”

I took the stool from the corner of the alcove and dragged it closer to the tub before sitting. “I met Victor about five years ago. He’d started trying to track John down about a year earlier, after he’d realized that these different murders around the country were in fact connected. We both ended up in the same little town outside of Tempe, tracing the same lead. When I figured out Henriksen and I were essentially after the same target, I called him up and introduced myself. We exchanged what information we had at the time, and we’ve kept in contact whenever one of us found something new.”

“So you trust him then?” He looked a bit nervous.

“Yeah, I do. Victor’s a good guy—he’s very dedicated to bringing criminals to justice, and he’s damn good at his job. I trust him to have our backs, and to do his best to make sure John gets what he deserves.”

“I ho—hope you’re right.” He sighed. “I know it ain’t right to judge someone for what they are, but I can’t stop wanting to be nowhere near any other alphas.”

“Considering that the only alphas you’ve had to deal with for ten years were cruel, abusive assholes, no one would blame you for how you feel, kiddo,” I said sympathetically. “I promise that Victor’s not like that though, so you’re perfectly safe around him. I wouldn’t have agreed to this meeting if I thought otherwise, and I’ll be there with you the whole time.”

I gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving him to enjoy the rest of his bath. I instead fired up my laptop and tried to get more caught up on work. Dean eventually emerged from the bathroom dressed in his earlier outfit and joined me on the sofa to tool around on his new tablet. 

A few minutes before three o’clock, we took the elevator down to the ground floor and headed towards the conference room I’d reserved. My brother held my hand and tried to maintain a calm demeanor, though his grip tightened and he drew closer to me whenever we passed another alpha. Inside the conference room, we took two seats along one side near the middle of the table, and I set a couple bottles of water and a can of soda from the fridge in our suite in front of us. 

Henriksen showed up about five minutes later and sat down across from me. “Hey there, fellas! Sorry I‘m a little late, but traffic’s a bitch out there right now. I want to thank you both for meeting with me today.”

“No problem, Victor. You know I’m glad to do whatever I can to help,” I replied. Dean nodded but didn’t say anything, his verdant eyes wide.

Henriksen studied him for a moment before giving him a reassuring smile. “Good to see you’re looking better now, Dean. There’s no need to be scared, okay? I know nearly every alpha you’ve come across besides Sam has been a complete bastard, but we’re not all like that. My job is to ensure that as many of the people that hurt you as possible get punished to the fullest extent of the law.”

He then looked at me. “You were right about how valuable the old man’s hunting journal would be—that thing’s a veritable goldmine of evidence! We’re still going through it, but it looks like it not only corroborates most of the cases we suspected him in but also indicates others that weren’t on our radar. Gotta love perps who compulsively record everything!”

“I imagine that’s keeping your team pretty busy,” I commented.

“Tell me about it!” Victor exclaimed. “We’re subpoenaing additional documents and scheduling interviews with new witnesses for the existing cases, and the techs are running DNA and comparing ballistics and wound molds to the weapons we confiscated. And then there’s gathering all that evidence for these new cases! We’ve set up shop in the Oklahoma City field office because we need more manpower and resources than the resident agency here can offer and mobilized other agents around the country to follow up on leads. We’ve also moved John to the Federal Transfer Center in Oklahoma City since administrative facilities like that can house prisoners at all security levels, and I’m not taking any chances with that sneaky sonofabitch!”

“So—so _he’s_ not near here anymore?” Dean asked timidly.

“Nope! He’s a good hour and a half or more away, and he’s currently spending twenty-three hours out of the day in a maximum security cell, aside from lawyer visits and court hearings. If _I_ have any say in it, he’ll get transferred to ADX Florence, our federal supermax prison in Colorado, after the trial and sentencing,” Henriksen declared. “But for now, he’s as securely held as possible at FTC, so don’t worry about him!”

Dean did in fact seem a little more relaxed. “Thanks, th—that’s good to know!”

“Before we get down to business, I want to give you this.” Henriksen pulled a manila folder out of his briefcase and slid it over to me. “Besides the journal, we discovered that Johnny-boy kept a ‘little black book’ of all the douchebags he’d pimped Dean out to—names, contact info, dates, and so on. Some were even repeat customers that he’d call up if he was in the area again. We’re going to use that to track down and charge as many of ‘em as we can, like we did the two assholes arrested with John. This copy here is for your records, and I’ll send your attorney another with the official paperwork attached.”

I opened the folder and glanced inside. The double-sided copies were filled with John’s handwriting, meticulously listing the johns alphabetically like in an address book, including notes on their . . . _preferences_ and prices charged for various . . . _services_. I vaguely noticed that a few pages had green plastic flags stuck to them, before the edges of my vision went red and a growl started to rumble in my chest. Dean put a concerned hand on my arm, and I took several deep breaths to calm down.

Victor of course noticed my reaction. “Yeah, that’s about how most of us felt too, which has motivated us even more to make sure these sonsofbitches get what’s coming to ‘em. I figure though that this’ll be _real_ useful for your custody case. Oh, and pay extra attention to those flagged names. It turns out that some of the female alpha customers came for more than just a good time—John apparently studded Dean out to them, and for a hefty fee too, especially the ones who got what they wanted.”

“Do you me—mean . . . I’ve got _kids_?” Dean looked stunned.

“Five to be exact, based on these records—two alpha boys, one alpha girl, and two omega girls. So if the family court judge or anyone else tries to insist you be given to someone for reproductive reasons, Sam can prove you already more than amply did your duty there. And Sam, you should have your lawyer look into the child custody laws where those women live if any are unmarried, since a number of states give stronger preference to the omega parent’s alpha should the single alpha parent be unable to care for the child for any reason, such as being incarcerated, even over the alpha parent’s relatives,” Henriksen explained.

“Really? I didn’t know about that,” I said in surprise.

He nodded. “It’s the main reason why we generally don’t hear about alphas without an omega of their own doing this sort of thing unless they’re pretty desperate. So if we do succeed in getting any of those women locked up, you may be able to sue for custody of the kid, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s . . . a lot to take in right now, especially on top of everything else going on,” I responded. “It’s something Dean and I will have to discuss later to decide what we want to do.”

“Hey, I get it—taking in a kid is a pretty major deal. Why don’t we move on to your statements?” He removed a digital voice recorder, notepad, and pen from his briefcase and placed the recorder between us. “Let’s start with you, Sam, to give your brother time to recover. We took your statement the last time we got close to the old man, so you can start with what happened since then.”

I waited until he turned the recorder on before speaking. “A friend and employee of mine, Ash Miles, began developing a profiling and search algorithm about a year and a half ago to help track down my brother. The program was designed to process whatever data you had about a person and their spending habits and then scan credit card transactions around the country until there was enough hits in a particular area to give a potential location for the target. Ash first tested it pretty rigorously using dummy data that he and other programmers at our company set up, and then he came to me when he was confident that it could work.

“I contacted Ian Johnston, one of the computer techs who support your team, to show him the algorithm, and he immediately saw its potential. Ian convinced his superiors to use our case for a trial of the program, and they in turn got the necessary warrants and subpoenas for the case files and access to the credit card company databases. We then inputted everything we had on John—the type of aliases he tended to use, the type of motels he usually stayed at, the types of ammo he needed for his arsenal, and so on. 

“Ash ran the program several times over the next few months, and whenever he got what seemed like a credible match, either I’d go to check it out if I could or find someone closer through the hunter network to look into it. Obviously those initial attempts turned out to be false positives or we got there too late, which is why I didn’t tell you at first—I didn’t want to waste FBI resources on wild-goose chases. Ash kept fine-tuning the program, and we also started checking the area around the possible hits for reports of the sort of cases that John would go after.

“Four days ago, the algorithm pinged that he was potentially somewhere west of Dallas. A hunter that Bobby Singer knows, Garth Fitzgerald IV, was nearby and agreed to follow up, and he found John’s trail heading north and caught up to him in Okmulgee two days later. Garth called me that afternoon to tell me John had checked into the Bel-Air Motel and emailed pictures for confirmation. I immediately made plans to travel there and then alerted you. I flew into Tulsa, drove down to Okmulgee, and met up with you and your agents outside the motel. I followed you into John’s room, took temporary custody of Dean, and then left after exchanging a few pithy words with John. I took Dean to a nearby omega clinic that night to get his injuries treated, and we met with an attorney, Balthazar Benelohim, this morning to initiate the transfer of custody,” I concluded.

“Okay then. We already received the copies of the report and photos from the clinic and interviewed Garth, and we’ll make arrangements to get statements from Johnston and your buddy Ash.” Henriksen finished writing something in his notebook and then looked up at my brother. “Now comes the really hard part. I know this isn’t gonna be easy, Dean, but I need you to tell me everything that John did to you since the kidnapping. Give me as much information as you can remember, particularly dates and locations, if anyone else saw the incident, if you had to have medical attention, et cetera. That’ll help us track down witnesses, clinic visits, and any other records to corroborate your statements, which in turn will help us to prosecute the old man and his cronies to the maximum degree possible for how he treated you.”

I held Dean’s hand as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and starting to talk. He gave us an in-depth version of the explanation from this morning, going into more detail about the frequency and severity of the beatings he received, the times when he was used as bait on hunts, the visits to dubious omega clinics when his injuries were too severe, and the brutal punishments when any of his escape attempts were caught. He explained how little he was fed on a regular basis, how often he was left locked up in the truck, bathroom, or closet for hours, and how crushed narcotic pills began to be mixed into his food, forcing him to choose between starving to death or succumbing to addiction. He haltingly described being gang-raped on the night of his sixteenth birthday, being pimped out to multiple johns on the first night or two after arriving at a new location and again whenever funds ran low, and being subjected to all manner of painful, degrading, despicable acts as long as they didn’t cause lasting damage.

Victor remained composed throughout the discussion, prompting my brother without coercing or leading, calming him when he became agitated, and letting him take short breaks when he got overwhelmed. I did my best to be supportive and comforting as Dean spoke, while struggling to control my rage and horror. A part of me regretted that John was safe in federal custody and resolved to do whatever possible to ensure he paid for what he’d done.

“Alright kid, one more question and then we can wrap this up,” Henriksen said when Dean finally ground to a halt. “Did John ever sexually abuse you directly?”

Dean shook his head. “He never touched omegas like that—thought that oms made alphas weak and wasn’t gonna go through that again after Mom’s death. And he specifically believed I was unclean, contaminated by the demon somehow. He’d let the johns do pretty much whatever shit they wanted to me and wank off sometimes to how much they were hurting me, but he never bad-touched me himself.”

I snarled and barely managed to wait until the agent had turned off the recorder before asking, “I don’t suppose I could arrange a special visit to where the bastard is being held?”

“Sorry, my friend. As much as I’d personally love to let you take your pound of flesh outta this sonofabitch, there’s no way I can stretch the rules that far,” Henriksen replied regretfully. “We’ll amend the charges then to remove rape from the list, but we’ll still have plenty to throw at him. Any questions?”

I bent my head towards my brother, allowing his sweet scent to soothe my fury. While I was working to regain control of my temper, Dean asked, “Wh—what happens next?”

“Tomorrow John will have his initial appearance before the federal district court judge, where they’ll determine if he’ll be remanded into custody until the trial or given the opportunity to post bail, and they’ll assign him an attorney from the Federal Defender’s office since he can’t afford his own. Given the number and seriousness of the charges and the high flight risk, I expect the U.S. Attorney will request remand, and I doubt the judge will contest,” Victor explained. “The hearing should be fairly quick, and there’s no need for either of you to attend; I’ll let you know the results when it’s over.

“After that, we’ve got about two weeks to seek an indictment from the grand jury, so my guys will be busting our asses to gather sufficient evidence, particularly on the newly discovered cases. The grand jury proceeding is to determine if there’s probable cause to charge the perp, and the only people allowed to attend will be the prosecutor, court reporter, jurors, and any witnesses subpoenaed to testify. It’s not too likely they’ll call Sam up since he didn’t witness any of the old man’s crimes besides the childhood abuse and the shit during the arrest, and they rarely use omega testimony directly either. It’s pretty much a sucker’s bet that they’ll return an indictment, considering the mountain of evidence we’ve already got.

“The next step will be the arraignment within ten days of the indictment, which is where all the charges will be formally read, and the defendant will plead guilty or not guilty. If John is smart, he’ll save us the hassle of a trial and plead guilty, though the only leniency he’ll see is if they take the death penalty off the table. If however he decides to be a stubborn jackass, he might go for not guilty by reason of insanity,” he concluded.

Dean looked concerned. “Could that work? Could _he_ get off by claiming he’s loony-tunes?”

I shook my head. “John’s certainly mentally unstable, but he still knows that his actions were wrong, or at least against the law, going by how careful he’s been at picking his targets and covering his tracks.”

“I agree with Sam—the man’s got more than a few screws loose, but he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He and his attorney can certainly try, but I doubt they could pull off a not guilty verdict with what we’ve got on him,” Henriksen added. “The best he could hope for is guilty but mentally ill, which would initially send him to the Medical Center for Federal Prisoners in Missouri for treatment, after which he’d be transferred to the appropriate federal penitentiary to serve out the rest of his sentence.

“Anyway, if he doesn’t plead guilty, it’ll be a while before this goes to trial after the arraignment, what with all the motions and pretrial hearings and crap. I can keep you updated on what happens and whether you need to do anything,” he offered.

“Thanks, Victor. For right now, can you send us and our lawyer transcripts of today’s meeting, and also copies of any additional evidence your team turns up regarding what John and the others did to Dean?” I asked. “That will be invaluable for the custody hearing.”

“Not a problem. We’ve actually turned that part of the investigation over to the local field office’s human trafficking unit, so they can concentrate on the abuse, solicitation, and prostitution charges, while my team and some of their violent crime team handles the assault, kidnapping, and murder charges. I’ll give your lawyer’s contact info to the head of the unit, and she’ll keep you guys in the loop,” he answered.

Henriksen then repacked his briefcase, shook our hands, and left. Since it was already after five o’clock, I decided to take Dean to the Chalkboard, the Ambassador’s in-house restaurant, in the hopes that the experience might lighten his mood after having to dredge up so many terrible memories. After a brief word to the hostess, we were seated once again in a back corner where no one could complain about Dean sitting next to me instead of kneeling on the floor. I ordered pan-seared salmon with a tomato and caper cream sauce, grilled vegetables, and lemon rice pilaf, while he got slow-braised beef short ribs with veal demi-glace, roasted corn, and mashed potatoes.

I waited until our sodas, his clam chowder, and my baby kale salad had been served before asking, “How are you feeling, buddy? I’m really proud of how well you handled that, by the way—better than me!”

He shrugged. “Okay for the most part, I guess, though I hope I don’t hafta do that again any time soon. Probably works in my favor that way that courts generally don’t take omegas seriously.”

“Which is idiotic, but that attitude isn’t going to change before the trial. As long as the court accepts the evidence your testimony today might lead to, that’ll have to be enough for now. What about the news that you have children? What do you want to do about that?”

“I—I dunno. Right now . . . I can barely take care of myself, let alone a kid, even with your help. So any major decisions gotta wait until I’m not such a mess,” he replied. “When I’m in better shape, I at least wanna meet ‘em, make sure they’re okay, and let ‘em know who their dad really is. Beyond that . . . it’s gonna take a while to wrap my head around all this.”

“I get it—it’s a lot to take in, especially with so much other crap happening at the moment,” I said, putting a hand over his. “When you’re ready though, we’ll figure it out together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long hiatus! First things got pretty busy at work, so I didn't have the energy to write when I got home most nights. Then I got laid off, and my muse decided to go on strike while I was out of work. I started a new job a couple weeks ago though and my inspiration seems to have returned, so I'm finally back with a new chapter.
> 
> There is an actual reason why alphas have enslaved omegas in this setting, which will be brought up later in the story and involves how the A/B/O dynamic affects breeding. And since most A/B/O stories (at least in this fandom) focus on male omegas being with male alphas, they tend to overlook that male omegas with female alphas is also a viable pairing (even more so biologically, since there's no mpreg in my world)--and that women can commit sexual assault too. All this combines together to mean that not all of the "clients" Dean was pimped out to were male, and some of those women were after more than just sexual gratification. There are some obvious candidates for Dean's children, such as Emma or Ben, and one or more may show up somewhere down the line.
> 
> I'm not an FBI agent or a lawyer of any kind, so I had to rely on Google-fu to figure out how a federal trial process works, and what added to the challenge is that it's apparently not exactly the same from state to state. It was also tough to figure out how jurisdiction would work in a case that involves multiple murders and other crimes all over the country. So I ended up making my best guess based on my research and what would work best for the story to figure out how the criminal case against John would play out.
> 
> My original plan had been to write a single, probably fairly long story that would cover how the brothers' relationship developed over the course of Sam taking care of Dean while he recovered. However, recently I started considering if it might be better to tell this as a series with at least two stories, since there's so far two main parts--one in Tulsa that would wrap up with the custody hearing and then one in San Francisco after Sam brings Dean home. A series would be less cumbersome to deal with if I want to add more parts (or time-stamps or whatever) along the way, and it might be less daunting for those readers who aren't fans of longfic. I haven't fully decided yet, so if you have an opinion either way, feel free to let me know in the comments.
> 
> If my muse continues to behave itself, hopefully another chapter will be posted in 2 or 3 weeks, since I'm still alternating between a couple other stories as well. In the meantime, constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos make me a happy kitty. :)


	7. Everybody Needs Someone Beside ‘Em

The next day didn’t start out in a promising fashion. Dean bolted from the bed with his hand over his mouth, and I noted that it was barely six o’clock before hurriedly following him. I found him on his knees in front of the toilet, heaving up the remnants of his last meal. I filled a glass with water and moistened a washcloth, then crouched down behind him and rubbed his back soothingly.

“Oh man, this shit sucks! Maybe I shouldn’t have had that spicy slaw at lunch yesterday,” he moaned a few minutes later, after it appeared that he was done vomiting for now.

I first handed him the damp washcloth and then the glass. After he’d wiped his face and drunk some of the water, I responded sympathetically, “Sorry buddy, but it probably wasn’t the food. It’s been nearly three days since your last drug dose, and the literature Dr. Garrison gave us said the physical withdrawal symptoms usually peaked at around seventy-two hours.”

“Ugh . . . Back up a bit, would ya?” He staggered past me out of the water closet and made his way to the sink. He rinsed his mouth out a few times and turned back toward me, his fair complexion still looking sickly. “Do I hafta take more of that clonidine stuff then?”

“Clonidine reduces some of the symptoms, like rapid heartrate, sweating, and jitteriness, but it’s not meant to counteract nausea or vomiting,” I explained. “How are you feeling right now?”

“Still queasy as fuck, though not enough to ralph again at the moment. I got cramps starting in my stomach though, and the aches everywhere else are getting worse too,” he admitted.

“Let’s order an early breakfast so you can take some more ibuprofen, and also see if they can send up anything to help with your nausea,” I suggested as I helped him out of the bathroom and over to the couch.

Once he was as comfortably ensconced among his throw pillows as possible under the circumstances and bundled up in his sofa blanket, I called room service to request something that would be easy on my brother’s stomach and contacted the concierge about acquiring some nausea remedies. While we waited, I looked up his symptoms to figure out other means of dealing with them. 

A waiter soon brought up scrambled eggs, dry toast, and ginger tea for Dean and my usual breakfast of oatmeal, fruit, and coffee. With our meal came bananas, saltine crackers, peanut butter, plain yogurt, ginger ale, and Gatorade for him to snack on later and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. After eating, he took some of the Pepto, ibuprofen, and clonidine before curling up with me to watch a movie on HBO, since it was recommended to not lie down for a while after eating.

The rest of the day didn’t progress any better. The medications prevented any further bouts of vomiting and reduced the severity of the other symptoms somewhat, but the lingering nausea, cramps, and aches still left Dean feeling pretty miserable. By mid-afternoon, he was feverish and experiencing occasional chills as well, which worsened his mood. The continued bland diet—chicken noodle soup, dry toast again, Jell-O, and apple juice for lunch, baked chicken and rice, applesauce, and ginger beer for dinner, and the previously mentioned mild snacks every couple of hours—didn’t help either in that regard.

I felt fairly helpless, knowing that we had to just ride out the worst of the withdrawal. I still did my best to help him feel better, such as trying to distract him with movies on TV and games on his tablet, encouraging him to take his medicine and eat regularly and rest whenever possible, and offering as much physical and verbal comfort as I could. This brought back memories of the few times he’d been really sick as a kid, when he’d been in worse condition than now and I’d been even more powerless to do much about it.

Fortunately he was doing better by the following morning, with the fever mostly gone and the nausea and pain down to more manageable levels when he woke up. After having plain Cheerios, cottage cheese, and a protein shake for breakfast and taking a long, hot bath, he was feeling well enough to want to go out for a little bit. We therefore drove a few blocks over to Maple Park, which consisted of mostly open grassy areas with tree-lined paths and a couple playgrounds, and walked around for a while. The hotel provided us with a picnic lunch of turkey sandwiches, tomato rice soup, peanut butter crackers, and iced tea, which we enjoyed sitting on a bench overlooking one of the playgrounds. Dean wistfully watched the children playing but didn’t say anything, and I was careful not to push him.

As we were about to leave the park, Balthazar called. “Ah good, I caught you! I wanted to let you know that I pulled some strings and now owe a favor now to the rather ghastly woman in charge of the family court docket in order to get our case on it as soon as possible. The good news is that our hearing is scheduled for next Wednesday morning at ten-thirty.”

“That’s great to hear! Will that be enough time for you to prepare though?” I asked, turning on the speaker.

“Don’t worry about me! Your buddy Special Agent Henriksen put me in touch with an Agent Diana Ballard who’s handling the portion of the investigation relevant to us. She’s already sent me and the public defender assigned to John copies of everything the FBI has so far and has promised daily updates for any new evidence. We won’t be able to document everything the bastard did to your brother before the hearing, but there’ll be more than enough to support our case,” he assured us. “In fact, given the embarrassment of riches we have, I’ve filed a motion to bypass the hearing and go straight to settlement, since I can’t imagine what defense the other side could possibly offer. If they agree, we’ll simply have a brief hearing at the Agreed-to Docket to go over the judge’s ruling.”

“You said that the scheduling is the good news, which implies you also have bad news,” Dean pointed out with a worried frown. “So what’s the deal there?”

“Well, in order to arrange for an expedited hearing so soon, we couldn’t afford to be as selective about which judge we’d get as I’d usually prefer. Our case has been assigned to Judge Myers, who wouldn’t exactly be my first choice. He’s fair but rather conservative and old-fashioned—believes in alpha privilege, omegas knowing their ‘proper place,’ and all that rot. Plus he’s not terribly fond of me, shocking as that is to hear,” the lawyer admitted.

“Do we need to be concerned about this?” I put in.

“No, no, we’re still fine. The evidence against your old man is irrefutable and overwhelming, so not even the most biased judge could decide in his favor. Myers may be a dinosaur on social issues, but he follows the law, which is clearly on our side. Just . . . don’t bring up omega rights or similar topics in front of him, to make our lives easier,” he advised.

“Is there anything we need to do before the hearing?”

“Let’s get together in my office on Tuesday, say at two o’clock?” Balthazar suggested. “We can look through what we’ve gathered so far for the case and go over your testimony as well.”

“Sounds like a plan! Call us if anything comes up before then.” I then hung up.

Back at our hotel room, Dean paced around the living room anxiously for several minutes before bursting out, “Shouldn’t we be more worried about this judge and shit, dude?”

I caught hold of his hand and coaxed him into sitting beside me on the sofa with my arm around his shoulders before responding. “There’s no need, Dee. The law in every state clearly forbids a known abuser from keeping an omega, and we’ve got a metric ass-load of proof against John already, plus whatever else Agent Ballard’s team digs up in the next few days. Like Balthazar said, no judge will be able to ignore all that, no matter what his personal views are. So there’s no way the court will award custody to _him_ , okay?”

“Yeah . . . but—but what if they don’t give custody to _you_? The judge could turn me over to the government instead, and they’d then put me in some kinda fucking shelter or sell me to some random asshat!” he retorted. “I’m sure either of those is way better than being with _him_ , but I wanna stay with you!”

“Calm down, man! First, the state would need to submit their own claim for custody to the court, which they haven’t. Even if they do so before the hearing, they would then have to prove that my claim isn’t valid or that I wouldn’t be a fit custodian for you, which they won’t be able to do either way,” I explained. “On the highly improbable chance that the judge rules against me, we don’t have to accept his verdict—we can appeal and hope to get a more reasonable judge the next time. Or if necessary . . . we run.”

He looked up at me in surprise. “But . . . what about your job, your company? And your house and friends and everything else?”

I squeezed his shoulders in a one-armed hug. “Like I keep telling you, kiddo, you’re always my priority. I can find a new job and house and anything else material, but I can’t replace _you_. As for my friends, most of them would have our backs and help us ditch the authorities if it came down to that. It’s always going to be you and me together against whatever comes at us, just like when we were kids.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” He rubbed his face before resting his head against my arm. “I’m probably extra worked up ‘cause of the withdrawal crap messing with my mood. Hopefully it’s only a coupla more days of dealing with that shit though.”

He yawned at that point and decided to go back to bed, since he hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past twenty-four hours. While he rested, I fired up my computer and tackled some of the work-related issues I’d put on hold since leaving home. When Dean woke up, we started an MCU binge on Netflix since he’d previously only seen _Iron Man_ , so we watched _Iron Man 2_ , _Thor_ , and _Captain America: The First Avenger_ before going to bed. His stomach was mostly behaving itself, so dinner was lemon and herb roasted chicken, truffle macaroni and cheese, and white chocolate bread pudding.

The next three days were fairly uneventful. Dean’s withdrawal symptoms continued to lessen, and we were able to cut back on the clonidine and other medications accordingly. His injuries were significantly better by then as well—the bruising lightened to a yellowish-green color, the cuts and abrasions healed over for the most part, and even the cracked ribs were less painful. As his appetite improved, we were also able to lift the restrictions on his diet, which enabled a joyful reintroduction to coffee. He did wake up one night due to vivid nightmares, but I was able to soothe him back to sleep relatively quickly. We watched more movies, not just Marvel but also the newer _Star Wars_ and _Star Trek_ films, and went for more walks in the nearby parks. And we of course talked, primarily about what he’d missed in the past decade regarding my life, family friends like Bobby and Pastor Jim, news events, entertainment media, and more.

On Tuesday morning, we drove down to Okmulgee to see Dr. Garrison again. The clinic’s waiting area was much busier this time, with a handful of alphas sitting with their omegas. Thankfully Dean wasn’t the only omega there who was fully dressed or using a chair instead of a kneeling cushion, though a couple of the alphas still eyed us askance. I had to glare one of them down when his attention began making my brother nervous.

A nurse called my name after about ten minutes and led us back to an exam room. She took Dean’s basic vitals, drew samples for bloodwork and urinalysis, and left him a medical gown. Once he’d changed, we only had to wait for a few minutes longer before the doctor came in.

Dr. Garrison greeted us warmly, examined Dean thoroughly, and then gave him a pleased smile. “I’m glad to see how much better you’re doing today! Your heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature are down to normal ranges, your reflexes are more responsive, your weight has gone up two pounds, your wounds are healing well, and of course your mental and emotional state is markedly improved. A week under your brother’s care seems to have worked wonders!”

Dean smiled back shyly. “Thanks, doc. And yeah, Sam’s been totally awesome! I haven’t felt this good in so long, it’s almost like a dream that I never wanna wake up from.”

“Well, let’s do our best to keep this up! How are you feeling after a week without any opiates?” Dr. Garrison asked.

“Pretty good for the most part, though there’s still a little jitteriness and a bit of achiness in my joints—plus the damn cravings in the back of my head,” Dean admitted. “There were a coupla days that sucked pretty bad, where I was super nauseous and everything frigging hurt like a bitch . . . but going through that crap was worth it to be able to think clearly again— _and_ not hafta fight the goddamn heat hormones all the time either!”

“We’ve been able to taper down how much clonidine he’s been taking over the past few days per your instructions, and he hasn’t had any since yesterday morning,” I added. “Do you think he’s ready to start on the Vivitrol?”

“I certainly hope so! However, since it hasn’t been a full two weeks since the last time Dean was drugged, we first need to run a few tests to make sure he’s over the physical withdrawal. We’re running the tox screen on your urine sample now and should have the results soon. While we’re waiting for that, I’ll perform an assessment called the Clinical Opiate Withdrawal Scale or COWS. If your score is low enough, the last step is the naloxone challenge, where I’ll administer a medication that will temporarily cause withdrawal symptoms if there are still opioids in your blood. If you pass the challenge, then we should be good to go,” the doctor explained.

He then pulled out a worksheet and went through the assessment, checking Dean’s pulse rate, pupil size, hand steadiness, anxiety level, and several more parameters. The omega passed that readily with a score of only two, so the doctor then gave him a small injection of naloxone in his shoulder muscle. After half an hour with no appreciable signs of withdrawal, Dr. Garrison declared that test negative as well. By that point the toxicology results had come back, confirming the lack of drugs in Dean’s system.

“Alright, let’s go over a few things first. This will be an intramuscular injection in the top of your buttocks, and the medication will last for four weeks. I’ll give you a prescription for additional doses that your physician back home can administer once a month. Most people stay on Vivitrol for a year, though you and your doctor can determine if you should stop sooner or later than that. In the meantime, make sure you find a good counselor when you get home to help you get over this and the other abuse you endured.

“You may feel nauseous for a day or two after this first shot, but that usually diminishes or disappears with subsequent doses. Other side effects might be drowsiness, headaches, dizziness, joint pain, or other mild symptoms. If you develop anything serious, such as an allergic reaction, severe reaction at the injection site, depression, or any signs of liver damage, see a doctor right away. Remember that this blocks the effects of any kind of opiate, so you could accidentally overdose if you try to take a painkiller, cough medicine, or anti-diarrhea medicine containing that kind of drug. Therefore you need avoid taking any opioids unless absolutely necessary, and only under a physician’s care. You should also monitor any alcohol consumption, since Vivitrol will block the pleasurable effects from drinking but not the short- or long-term negative consequences,” Dr. Garrison instructed. “Any questions?”

We both shook our heads, and the doctor prepared the syringe. Dean lifted the side of his gown, and Dr. Garrison injected the medication into the upper left quadrant of his left buttock, near the hip. We waited for ten minutes to make sure Dean didn’t have an immediate allergic reaction, and then the doctor left the room to allow him to get dressed. On our way out, we picked up the Vivitrol prescription, instructions, and an emergency card from the front desk.

After leaving the clinic and returning to Tulsa, we stopped for lunch at a grill a few blocks from the hotel, where Dean insisted on ordering his first bacon cheeseburger in a decade. I enjoyed watching his obvious pleasure at having his favorite meal—and of course teasing him for the nearly pornographic noises he made. We then browsed in a nearby music store for about an hour before heading downtown to our lawyer’s office.

Once we’d taken seats again on his couch, Balthazar announced, “Unfortunately skipping the full hearing at the Protective Order Docket is a no-go. The public defender assigned to the case, Jeff Krause, is all for it, but his client is insisting on his day in court. Frankly I don’t know what the man is thinking, since he’s got less than a snowball’s chance in Hell of winning. Particularly given his latest antics—apparently he got thrown into solitary for a couple of days last week after pitching a violent fit when he realized one of his guards was a nachzehrer.”

“I doubt he actually cares about the custody hearing. He’s more than likely planning a performance to support an insanity defense for his criminal trial.” I smiled grimly at the other’s expression of surprise. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating John Winchester. He may appear to be no more than an unstable, drunken ex-mechanic who never finished high school, but he’s still one of the smartest people I know and definitely the most cunning. Remember that he managed to elude both my friends and I _and_ the FBI for years before finally being caught.”

“Right, I’ll try to keep that in mind. Fortunately though, the criminal trial isn’t our problem,” he replied. “Also in our favor is that we don’t have to worry about the ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ business a criminal prosecution has to deal with. We need to provide a ‘preponderance of evidence,’ which simply means showing that our story is more likely true than not. Even with the accelerated turnaround, we’ve got more than enough to meet that standard and then some.”

“Good to know. So what do we have so far?” I asked.

“Between the medical records you gathered over the years and what Dr. Garrison has provided, we’ve got plenty to establish the history of physical abuse, including the starvation and forced drug use. Agent Ballard has been a very busy little bee in the past week, so in addition to John’s little black book, she’s already dug up financial transactions, security camera footage, and other documentation to verify several of the prostitution charges. Agent Henriksen gave us written testimony from the agents and officers at the scene when John was arrested and records of any pertinent evidence gathered there, such as that horrid collar and the nasty toys some of the johns used. And of course we have your tax returns, company records, property deeds, and whatnot to demonstrate what a fine citizen and deserving custodian you are,” Balthazar listed.

“As far as testimony goes, Dr. Garrison will present and explain all of the medical records, including X-rays, test results, and as many graphic photos of Dean’s injuries over the years as possible. Henriksen will go over the evidence of abuse gathered over the course of the manhunt for John as well as from the arrest, and Ballard will do the same with what’s been discovered since,” he continued. “You’ll be our star witness and testify as to how rotten John was as a parent and all the lengths you’ve gone to in order to rescue and provide for your brother. Sound good?”

As he spoke, the lawyer brought out the stacks of various forms of evidence and set them on the table in front of us—photographs, medical reports, witness testimonials, evidentiary records, and more. By the time he was done, the table’s surface was completely covered. The number of new documents I hadn’t seen before was rather impressive, given the short time frame in which they’d been gathered. He then began questioning me as if we were in court, occasionally stopping to make suggestions on how to better phrase my statements. 

“Alright, that should about cover it,” Balthazar eventually said. “The important thing is to not volunteer more information than necessary—stick to what’s pertinent to the question and nothing extra. Be _especially_ careful to avoid anything about omega liberation or any other progressive topic that might shock the judge’s antiquated sensibilities. I assume you brought a decent suit with you, so make sure to wear that instead of the flannel monstrosity you’ve got on now.”

He then eyed Dean, who was dressed in a scoop-necked pale blue tee, close-fitting plaid over-shirt in dark blue, green, and silver with rolled-up sleeves, and slim distressed jeans with silver embroidery swirling down the legs, as well as his amulet, crystal-studded green collar, silver ring, and an elephant hair bracelet. “As for you, it would be best to stick to a modest outfit, nothing too flashy. You’ll have to kneel beside Sam during the hearing, keep your eyes down, and stay quiet unless directly addressed. It’s all bullshit, but we have to play along for a little while to reach our goal.”

Dean grimaced but nodded. “Yeah, I get it. I won’t do nothing to rock the boat ‘til this show’s over. What do you think _his_ lawyer is gonna bring up in defense though?”

“Honestly I’m not sure,” Balthazar admitted. “I imagine the only witness Krause will call up is John himself. _He_ might try to appeal to Judge Myers with some old-school alpha privilege nonsense, but not even the most prejudiced judge can ignore the evidence against him. Or like your brother suggested, the douchebag might rave on about demonic conspiracies and try to portray himself as mentally unhinged to set up his later defense. Either way, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

“One other thing, Balthazar, which isn’t directly related to the hearing. In regards to the five women who used Dean to sire their children, could you determine what our rights are as far as visitation, custody, and so on? Dean and I aren’t sure yet how we want to proceed, but it would be good to know what our options are,” I suggested.

“That’s not a bad idea. I’ll have one of my assistants look into this and let you know what we find. I’ll be glad to represent you again should you decide to pursue any of this further,” he replied.

We left his office shortly after that. On our way back to the hotel, I asked, “How are you feeling about the hearing now?”

“Still a little nervous, but better than earlier,” Dean replied. “Seeing all the evidence we got on our side already really helped—looked like more than enough for ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ if you ask me! So I’m more optimistic now that this is gonna go our way tomorrow.”

I reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m looking forward to getting the legal formalities out of the way and more importantly getting _him_ out of our lives. By this time tomorrow, we should be on our way home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long hiatus once again, but unfortunately my muse has still been erratic. I'm hoping though to be able to finish the remainder of this story on a somewhat regular schedule.
> 
> One thing I have decided to do is split this story into a 2-part series, rather than have one longfic covering the entirety of how the brothers' relationship develops. So this fic will wrap up with everything that happens in Tulsa, and the 2nd one, Let Me Be Your Fortress, will pick up in the aftermath of the custody hearing and go from there. As a result, I'll be adjusting the tags on this part since certain characters have only made brief appearances so far and since no romance or smut will be occurring--though I will leave this tagged as Dean/Sam since that's still the intent behind the story. I've also added titles to each of the chapters so far.
> 
> If all goes well, the next update should be in ~3 weeks. In the meantime, constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


	8. Shining Like a Lighthouse from the Sea

We pulled into the parking garage next to the Tulsa County Courthouse at a quarter after ten o’clock the next morning, after a less than five-minute drive from our hotel. I got out, buttoned the jacket on my charcoal grey Oxxford suit, and adjusted my navy blue silk tie before looking over at my brother, who was simply dressed in a tan waffle-patterned Henley, black slacks, and the plain collar lent to us by the hotel, his only adornment being his amulet.

“Are you ready?” I asked as I reached for his leash.

Dean took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Once inside, we went through security and were directed to the courtroom on the first floor where the Protective Order Docket was held. Balthazar, who was clad in a silvery Armani suit with black shirt and tie, was pacing in the hallway while talking on the phone. Victor and a woman I took to be Agent Ballard were seated on a bench near the courtroom door, Garth was looking out a window (he’d volunteered to come for moral support), and Dr. Garrison was approaching from the opposite direction.

Balthazar hung up as we drew near. “Ah good, the gang’s all here! I’m told they’ll be letting us in shortly. Your old man is here somewhere, but I believe the Feds locked him in a broom closet or something to keep him from causing a ruckus. We’ve got an hour and a half until the next hearing, though ideally we shouldn’t need that long to convince the judge.”

Before either of us could respond, the bailiff opened the doors, and we all filed inside the courtroom. Our lawyer led us past the spectators’ benches, through the gate at the rail, and over to the counsel table on the right. He and I took the two chairs there, while Dean arranged himself on the thick kneeling cushion on the floor beside me. Our witnesses sat in first row of benches behind us, while several paralegals carried in multiple file boxes and lined them up against the railing.

A harried-looking man in a polyester suit hurried in shortly after us and went to the other counsel table, and two armed guards then brought in John Winchester, wearing an orange jumpsuit and restraints at both wrists and ankles, and seated him next to his public defender. It took a great amount of willpower to maintain a calm outward demeanor as I stared at the smug face of the man I’d hated for the past decade. Dean kept his gaze turned resolutely away, but his pale face and faint trembling indicated his distress at being in his abuser’s presence, and I quickly dropped a comforting hand to his shoulder.

An elderly gentleman in judge’s robes entered a few minutes later from a door in the back and took his place at the judge’s bench. He settled his glasses on his nose and gave our lawyer an unamused glance. “So Mr. Benelohim, what brings you to my courtroom today?”

Balthazar rose and went to the podium between and somewhat in front of the counsel tables. “Good morning, Your Honor. My client and I are here regarding the disposition of the omega WM96KS6581, known as Dean. We are requesting to terminate all custodial rights from the omega’s biological sire, one John Winchester, and transfer sole guardianship to my client, the omega’s elder brother, Sam Winchester. In addition, we are asking that a permanent protective order be placed against John Winchester to forbid him from approaching the omega or my client in the future. I know your time is valuable, so I won’t waste it on flowery speeches. I think the evidence we’ll be presenting will speak for itself.”

The judge nodded. “Very well. Call your first witness.”

Dr. Garrison then came to the witness stand and was sworn in. He began going through Dean’s medical history, starting with the initial visit to his clinic and then going back through those records which had been discovered so far, with the copy of each record submitted into evidence once he was done with it. He explained everything in layman’s terms but in sufficient detail to make the extent and severity of the neglect and mistreatment abundantly clear. 

Most of his testimony was familiar to me, but some new information derived from Agent Ballard’s recent investigation, such as Dean needing care for severe tearing and bleeding after that first gang-rape or treatment once for chlamydia and another time for gonorrhea, still shocked and enraged me. If it weren’t for my brother’s anxious hand on my leg the first time I started to growl, I likely would’ve leapt across the room to wrap my hands around John’s throat. As it were, I had to concentrate on my concern for Dean’s emotional state to maintain a grip on my self-control.

After the doctor had finished his summary of the past decade’s worth of injuries and abuse, Balthazar said, “I have just a couple more questions. Do you also have documentation of Dean’s medical history prior to John Winchester taking him away from my client?”

“Yes, we do. We have records of yearly visits to public omega clinics for wellness checks, vaccines, and other preventative care, as well as for the occasional treatment of typical childhood illnesses. According to those files, the person who brought Dean to the clinic each time was his older brother Sam, usually with some kind of note to explain their father’s absence. These checkups stopped sometime after Dean turned fourteen, which I understand is when he was kidnapped,” Dr. Garrison explained. “There was only one serious injury noted during that time, which was Dean fracturing his left ulna at the age of eight. Both boys stated this was due to Dean jumping off of the roof of a shed and landing wrong, which was corroborated by the property owner who brought them to the ER.”

“You’ve seen Dean more recently since the night of the arrest, yes? How has his medical condition changed between the two visits, while under my client’s care?” our lawyer asked.

“That’s correct, I examined him yesterday morning,” Dr. Garrison replied. “His improvement has been remarkable, considering the short time frame—his injuries are well on their way to healing, he’s begun to put on weight, his forced heat and immediate drug withdrawal have passed, and he seems alert, responsive, and well, _happy_. This was a far cry from the extremely damaged and distressed young man I saw last week. His recovery still has a long way to go, of course, but the difference between being under the defendant’s care to being under his brother’s is undeniable.”

Balthazar thanked him and sat down. Jeff Krause, the public defender, took his place at the podium. “Dr. Garrison, is there any actual evidence in this litany of supposed mishandling to suggest that my client was the perpetrator?”

Dr. Garrison raised his eyebrows. “First, there’s nothing _supposed_ here—this is one of the clearest cases of omega cruelty I’ve ever seen. Second, wasn’t your client caught literally with his pants down in the act of pimping his own child out by federal and local law enforcement, as I’m sure someone will attest to later? As for the earlier instances, the defendant is listed in those records as the one responsible for bringing Dean in to get his too-frequent injuries taken care of at those back-alley butchers, so at the very least, your client was allowing the abuse to happen and not protecting his son, which still makes him unfit to be an omega guardian even if he never admitted direct culpability. And unless you want to seriously suggest that Dean starved and drugged himself, it’s pretty clear who the culprit behind the additional neglect actually was.”

“No further questions for this witness,” Krause muttered, looking even more hangdog as he returned to his seat.

Dr. Garrison left the witness stand and was replaced by Special Agent Victor Henriksen. After being sworn it, Henriksen discussed the highlights of his five-year manhunt, starting with what brought John to the FBI’s attention, including when the two of us met and teamed up, and ending with the arrest in Okmulgee. His testimony focused on the evidence he’d uncovered over the years pertaining to John’s mistreatment of the omega, with particular detail given to what was found during the arrest. Copies of the pertinent portions of the case files were entered into evidence as he spoke.

“Special Agent Henriksen, is this the only legal proceeding currently being held against John Winchester?” Balthazar inquired.

Krause stood quickly. “Objection! This question doesn’t relate to the matter at hand, and the answer could be prejudicial to my client!”

“On the contrary, this ties in directly to the senior Winchester’s fitness as a custodian,” Balthazar countered. “He cannot perform his duties if he is in jail during a lengthy trial or after a conviction, after all. And the severity of the charges is pertinent in determining how long he potentially could be incarcerated.”

“Objection overruled. Please answer the question, Special Agent,” Judge Myers instructed.

“We’re preparing to present our case to the grand jury by next week for multiple charges of first-degree murder, for which we plan to seek the death penalty, as well as lesser charges of manslaughter, aggravated assault, kidnapping, solicitation, abuse of an omega, breaking and entering, impersonating law enforcement officers, possession of unregistered firearms, credit card fraud, insurance fraud, and hunting without a valid FASA license,” Henriksen explained. “We have more than enough evidence currently to be granted an indictment; however, given the quantity and gravity of the charges—this is possibly the biggest serial murder case we’ve ever had in this country—we don’t expect either side to be ready to go to trial for several weeks or even months. John Winchester has been remanded without bail to the maximum security ward at the Federal Transfer Center in Oklahoma City, where he’ll remain until and during the trial.”

“I understand that you can’t discuss details of an ongoing case, but what are the chances of Winchester gaining his freedom after the trial?”

“Slim to none, honestly. The defendant is looking at spending the rest of his life in a federal mental facility, maximum security penitentiary, or death row, depending on how the jury finds against him,” Victor stated.

“Thank you, Special Agent. No further questions, Your Honor.” Balthazar left the podium.

“Is it true, Agent Henriksen, that the non-humans my client is accused of allegedly killing were guilty themselves of violent crimes, of attacking and killing human citizens? That FASA would’ve sent licensed hunters to take these individuals down if my client supposedly hadn’t done so first?” Krause demanded.

“It’s _Special Agent_ Henriksen, buddy. And yes, many of John Winchester’s victims were wanted for various crimes, but not all—some were merely under suspicion, some were trying to protect their loved ones from his attacks, and some were simply ‘collateral damage’ in his vendetta. Regardless, those who were accused still had a right to a fair trial and be punished according to the law if found guilty—they _didn’t_ deserve to be murdered in cold blood by your client,” Henriksen retorted heatedly. “You got any more crap like this?”

Krause shook his head and sat down. Balthazar then called Agent Diana Ballard to the witness stand. She described her team’s investigation since the arrest into John’s crimes that pertained to his abuse of my younger brother. Much of her testimony featured what had been discovered through his ‘little black book,’ giving both general numbers and specific examples regarding how often he’d pimped Dean out, how many ‘clients’ he’d sold the omega’s ‘services’ to, and the myriad ways he and the johns mistreated his own son in the course of those transactions. Even though I’d heard most of this earlier when Dean had spoken to Henriksen last week, it was still extremely challenging to keep my cool, and I once again had to direct my attention to my brother and make sure he was handling hearing all this as well as could be expected.

The public defender had no questions for her, and so I was summoned to the stand next. Once I’d been sworn in, Balthazar asked, “How long have you been Dean’s primary caregiver, Mr. Winchester?”

“I’ve been looking after my baby brother pretty much since our mother died. For the first couple of years, John did make an effort to find someone to watch over us, like a neighbor or family friend or hunting ally, but I still helped them out however I could. By the time I was about seven, I was taking care of him more or less full-time, other than when we’d stay with one of the few friends John had left,” I said. “I made sure Dean was clean and healthy, had enough to eat and something to wear, and knew he was loved and wanted. I taught him to walk, talk, read, and everything else. And I did my best to keep him safe, not only from the usual things like strangers and household hazards but also and especially from John himself.”

“Indeed, and where was John Winchester during this time, when a mere child was forced to raise another child? And why did you need to protect Dean from his own father?”

I shrugged. “John was gone most of the time—out hunting or looking for supposed leads about our mother’s ‘real’ killer or scrounging up money or simply getting wasted. If he couldn’t leave us with someone like Bobby Singer or Pastor Jim Murphy, he’d dump us at a motel or cheap rental for several weeks with barely enough money to cover rent and food and orders not to attract attention. When he was around, he was usually busy obsessing over his research or drinking. The only times he paid attention to me was to train me to be a hunter, whether I wanted to or not.

“As for Dean, John somehow blamed him for Mom’s death, even though my brother was only six months old at the time. He refused to believe that it was simply a random tragedy, even after the perpetrator was caught and confessed, and insisted it was part of some demonic conspiracy and that the demon had contaminated Dean and the other infant victims. He also turned against omegas in general after losing his mate, claiming that they made alphas weak and needed to be kept down, that sort of thing. As a result, he was much harsher with Dean, ignoring him when he was hungry or upset, shoving him away when he got near, shouting at him over the slightest infraction, looking for any excuse to slap or spank him or worse. 

“I did what I could to shield Dean and keep him away from John when I was too little to stop the abuse, and as soon as I got big and strong enough, I made sure he _never_ raised his voice to or laid a hand on my little brother when I was around,” I continued. “I also encouraged John to stay away even more by working odd jobs after school to support the two of us while he was gone, finding him ‘leads’ to pursue elsewhere, and picking fights with him when he was around to both keep his attention on me and make him not want to stick around. The problem was that I couldn’t keep him away forever, and I couldn’t be there all the time to guard Dean when he was with us. So I eventually resolved to take my brother with me when I left for college and began preparing to sue for custody once I turned eighteen.”

Our lawyer nodded encouragingly. “What did happen then?”

I sighed. “The night before my eighteenth birthday, John bought a bottle of good whiskey, Johnny Walker Black Label, instead of his usual cheap rotgut and said he wanted to start over and try to mend our relationship. I shouldn’t have fallen for it, but John could be pretty damn convincing when necessary—he’d even made an effort to be less unpleasant in the weeks leading up as part of the con—and I guess there was still a part of me that was the little boy who missed his dad. He even encouraged Dean to have some, which should’ve warned me that he was up to something. It turned out that he’d dosed our drinks with a sedative—I suspect ketamine—that knocked both of us out within about half an hour. When I woke up the following morning, he and Dean were gone, and on the dinette table was the amulet I’d given to Dean years ago, lying on top of my acceptance letter to Stanford University.”

“What did you do after discovering that your brother was missing?” he asked.

“I first went to the police, but since John was Dean’s legal owner, there wasn’t much they could do besides file assault charges for unlawfully drugging me. I next headed to the nearest Omega Welfare Services office with the evidence I’d gathered for the custody suit to open an omega endangerment case against John, and OWS promised to launch an investigation into his whereabouts. I also got in touch with everyone I knew in the hunting community to enlist their help in finding my brother. John was already _persona non grata_ with most of them due to his unstable and violent behavior, so they agreed to keep an eye out for him and spread the word to their own contacts. I then spent the next several weeks searching for any leads as to where he’d taken Dean.

“I finally decided to go on to Stanford like I’d originally planned because the full ride meant I could devote my spare time to looking for Dean instead of trying to support myself, plus I knew the degree and eventual career would allow me to better provide for him once I found him. I qualified for my hunting license and took cases when I could to earn money for travel expenses, private investigators, and so on to continue the search. After befriending Charlene Bradbury, I chose to work towards opening our own software company instead becoming a lawyer because that would give me more time, flexibility, and resources to spend on finding my brother,” I stated.

I then gave an overview of my decade-long search, including joining up with Henriksen and how we ultimately managed to track John down and rescue Dean. As with the doctor and the FBI agents, Balthazar entered the copies of my documentation, such as the OWS case file, police reports, and statements from witnesses, private investigators, and hunters who’d provided assistance, into evidence after we’d gone over the pertinent testimony.

“Alright then, Mr. Winchester, let’s switch gears now and discuss why you’re more qualified to be your brother’s guardian,” Balthazar suggested. “How about we start with what is it you do for a living?”

“Sure. I’m the co-CEO and chief financial officer for HunterCorp, a software company based in San Francisco with over forty employees so far. Our main product is the game _Supernatural_ , which has grossed over one hundred-fifty million dollars in sales in the three years since its release. We also have a training simulator based on the game which has been endorsed by the Federal Agency of Supernatural Affairs and rolled out to the Campbell Hunter Academy and other training facilities. We’re currently working on an MMO version of the game and an interactive, virtual reality-based version of the simulator, both of which we hope to have ready later this year or early next year. I have copies of the company financial statements and my tax returns to show HunterCorp’s net worth and my income, in order to demonstrate that I’ll have no problem supporting Dean as well as myself.” I paused while those were submitted into evidence.

“Of course, money isn’t the only thing that matters—a good work-life balance is also a priority to us. I generally work at home at least two days out of the week and rarely work long hours unless we have a deadline looming,” I continued. “There’s a day care in the ground floor of our building for employees with children, and the Omega Center of San Francisco, which is run by my friend and your brother Castiel, is a block away. We also have spaces throughout our offices for when employees want to bring their kids, omegas, and even pets with them to work. All this means that watching over Dean won’t be an issue.”

“And where is home right now?” he inquired next.

“Well, both Charlie and I moved to San Francisco after finishing graduate school and starting up HunterCorp, and we actually shared a rental house for a couple of years. I then bought a four-story rowhouse in Lower Pacific Heights a little over a year ago,” I explained. “It has five bedrooms, four and a half baths, a good-sized yard, and both a backyard and rooftop deck, so there’s plenty of space for Dean to be comfortable. My office and the Omega Center are only a few blocks away, and there are plenty of shops and restaurants, as well as the UCSF Medical Center, nearby.”

“What about your support system?”

“In San Francisco, there’s Charlie, Castiel, Ash, and my many other friends, who’ve stood by me and helped me in looking for Dean and whom I hope will become his friends too. As for family, our paternal grandmother Millie and her mate live in Normal, Illinois, and on our mother’s side is the entire Campbell hunting clan, from our grandparents Samuel and Deanna in Lansing, Michigan to various cousins around the country—all of whom are eager to meet and welcome Dean. There are also the family friends from when we were growing up, like Bobby, Pastor Jim, and the Harvelles,” I said.

“One last set of questions then—what are your plans once you have custody of your brother?”

“My first priority is Dean’s health. As Dr. Garrison testified, we’ve had his injuries initially treated and started his drug withdrawal treatment, and we’ll continue to follow up with a doctor at the Omega Center’s clinic when we get home, as well as find him a good therapist there to deal with the mental and emotional trauma. We’ve been slowly getting back onto a normal diet and will keep monitoring that until he’s back up to a healthy weight, again under a doctor’s supervision. Naturally, all this is going to take some time, at least several months and possibly a year or longer.

“Once he’s fully recovered, we’ll have to decide if staying with me is what’s best for him.” I looked over at Dean and smiled. “If we find someone that will be a good mate and he feels safe with, then I’ll determine if that would be the right course of action. As Agent Ballard testified however, he’s already exceeded the minimum for those states with breeding requirements for omegas, though California isn’t one of them, so there’s no need to rush.”

“Do you have an omega of your own currently, Mr. Winchester?”

I shook my head. “All my attention has been focused on my brother since he was taken, so I haven’t had the time or energy to spare for finding and caring for a mate—or even dating any betas. That’s not likely to change until Dean’s better.”

Balthazar sat down and was replaced by Krause at the podium. “While I commend your devotion to this omega, if my client was purportedly such a terrible parent when the two of you were growing up, why didn’t you or anyone else report him to Child Protective Services or Omega Welfare Services?”

“Because I couldn’t risk that we’d be separated if we were taken away from John’s custody while I was still underage. We’ve all heard how difficult the foster care system can be, and that it’s generally much worse for omega children. I knew I could keep my little brother safe, even from _him_ , but I couldn’t guarantee that the same would be true under the state’s care, especially if I wasn’t with him,” I replied patiently. “So I did my best to avoid anything that might bring the attention of CPS or OWS, and I persuaded those family friends who were worried about how John was treating Dean that I could take better care of Dean than the system—and I _did_. I understand that this failed in the end, but honestly no one could’ve expected what John did—after all, in other cases even remotely similar to this, it’s never been the _alpha_ child who was abandoned.”

Krause sighed again. “No further questions, Mr. Winchester.”

“I have no other witnesses at this time, Your Honor,” Balthazar stated as I stepped down and returned to the plaintiff’s table, where Dean gave me a surreptitious thumbs-up and squeezed my hand encouragingly.

Judge Myer looked down at the public defender. “Do you have any witnesses, Mr. Krause?”

Krause grimaced. “This is against my legal advice, but my client has insisted. Therefore, I call . . . John Winchester to the stand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I need to humbly grovel for yet another extended hiatus! Unfortunately like before, my muse decided to go MIA for quite a while, possibly due to some combination of SPN ending, holiday distractions, and the craziness going on here in the US (pandemic, election disputes, riot, etc.). But she seems to have returned in the past couple of weeks, allowing me to finish another WIP and work on the last chapters for this story, so here we are!
> 
> As I mentioned in an earlier author's note, I'm not a lawyer, so my knowledge of how a trial in family court should be held is mainly from Google-fu and probably unintentionally influenced by years of watching Law & Order and similar shows, in case this comes off as too much like a criminal trial. If there are any glaring inaccuracies, please feel free to let me know in a comment. For similar reasons, I for the most part simply summarized the evidence and testimony given, since this is not my area of expertise (or interest) and didn't want to bog the story down with an excessive number of chapters devoted to the trial. If there's anything mentioned in this chapter that you have questions about or want more details on, again please drop it in the comments, and I'll answer as long as it doesn't involve spoilers for something later.
> 
> The last chapter is almost complete, and I hope to be able to post it next week or the week after at the latest. I'll start working on the sequel after that, but it may be a while before I start posting it, since it's probably better to wait until I have most or all of it written first to try to avoid the long hiatuses we ran into with this one. In the meantime, constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. :)


	9. Never Leave You All Alone

John sauntered up to the witness stand as nonchalantly as he could, his shackles clinking with each shuffled step. His expression remained smug as he sprawled in the seat before the bailiff swore him in. He glanced over and smirked at me while waiting for his lawyer to step up to the podium.

A low growl had been rumbling through my chest from the moment his name was called, and once again the only thing that kept me from launching myself at him to beat that self-satisfied look off of his face was Dean’s touch. The trembling in the hand resting on my knee reminded me of my true priority, and I stifled my snarl and turned my attention toward my brother. Once I was calm again, he gave me a tentative smile, and I placed my hand over his and squeezed it reassuringly.

Krause started out by questioning John about his past, focusing on his difficult childhood after being abandoned by his father, his harrowing stint as a Marine during the Vietnam War, and his efforts to be a good mate and then father before Mom’s death. I rolled my eyes at this blatant attempt to play on the listeners’ sympathies, while Dean tried to suppress a snicker at my expression.

Balthazar stood after this had gone on for several minutes. “Objection, Your Honor! Is there a point to boring us with these sob stories that’s _actually_ relevant to the case at hand?”

“This testimony is needed to establish my client’s state of mind and how it influenced his later actions, Your Honor,” Krause replied quickly.

Judge Myer gave him an unamused glance over his glasses. “I’ll allow it, but I advise you to speed this along, Mr. Krause, and not waste the court’s time with unnecessary grandstanding.”

Finally the questioning moved on to more pertinent matters as the public defender asked, “After Mary’s death, which clearly left you devastated and also the sole caretaker of your toddler and infant sons, why did you leave Lawrence to begin searching for her killer? There you had the support of friends and family to help you with both your grief and your young children, and there was not only the police investigating her death but also the FBI due to the serial nature of the murder and FASA due to the supernatural involvement, as well as FASA’s assistant director being your mate’s sire, correct?”

“I tried to stick it out at first, to let the so-called professionals do their thing—until it became clear that they were in over their heads. They found their scapegoat early on and wouldn’t listen when I told ‘em that the demon in my house that night had _yellow_ eyes, not black. I didn’t blame ‘em, not even Samuel—the man’s a cold, ambitious bastard, but he loved his only child—but they were obviously getting played by the big poohbahs downstairs. I realized the only way to get justice for my Mary was to go after her killer myself, so I packed my boys up and hit the road to track it down,” John stated.

“Why not leave your children in the care of your mother or in-laws or even a trusted friend like your business partner, instead of subjecting them to such a transient childhood?” Krause inquired next.

“As much as I loved Mary for her bravery, what she did painted a target on our family’s backs, and it was only a matter of time before the demon came back to finish what it’d started. Civilians like Momma or Mike Guenther wouldn’t have been able to protect my sons if it had shown up again, so watching over Sam and Dean woulda just put _them_ in danger. Even the other hunters who offered to look after the boys, like Bobby Singer or Jim Murphy, didn’t believe me ‘bout the demon and therefore didn’t properly appreciate the risks involved. And no way was I letting Samuel Campbell get his mitts on my kids, ‘cause he woulda used every excuse possible to take ‘em away from me for good!” John responded, sneering when he mentioned our grandfather’s name. He then pasted on a caring expression before adding, “Truth be told, I was selfish too—Sam and Dean were all I had left of Mary, and I just couldn’t give ‘em up.”

“If you were trying to protect them, then why did you leave your older son behind and take only your younger one with you ten years ago?” Krause then asked.

“It was pretty obvious that Sam was gonna leave as soon as he was old enough—he mighta thought he’d outsmarted me with his ‘secret plans,’ but he forgot just how well I knew him. He never had the balls to commit to the mission—always whining about being ‘safe’ and ‘normal’ instead of focusing on finding his mom’s killer. It wasn’t worth it to keep trying to force him to stay, not when I had more important things to worry ‘bout. Besides, I knew he’d be safe on his own ‘cause the demon wouldn’t be interested in him without Dean around,” John explained, trying to look earnest. “Which is precisely why I couldn’t let Sam take his brother with him to college, ‘cause he woulda let his guard down, thinking they were in the clear on their own, and instead leave ‘em both wide open to the fucking thing! I knew he wouldn’t listen to reason though, which left me with no other option than to trick him and take Dean away.”

His lawyer shuffled some papers in front of him before posing the next question. “What about the various allegations the plaintiff has put forth regarding your supposed abuse of your omega son? How do you respond to those?”

“I didn’t have a choice! The damn demon had _tainted_ the boy with its blood that night—I saw the evidence on his lips. I did what I had to in order to prevent the corruption from spreading, which meant keeping Dean weak and under control. It might’ve looked harsh and excessive to everyone else, but it was better than the alternative if he got free or if the demon got a hold of him—or even if another hunter had found out the truth! That’s another reason why I couldn’t let Sam have him, ‘cause he wouldn’t have the spine to do what needs to be done,” John retorted with a self-righteous look on his face. “I also needed to teach the boy his proper place, after years of Sam filling his head with garbage like oms being equal to real people and shit.”

“You’re currently being indicted for multiple serious crimes and will remain in custody through a potentially lengthy trial process, and you could be looking at decades of incarceration or worse if convicted. How do you propose to care for the omega while in jail?” Krause asked.

John sighed. “Look, this whole trial business is a joke, okay? I never killed any _people_ , only monsters. Face it, supernatural creatures are lesser beings—they weren’t created by God in His image like humans were and instead are just the spawn of a debased monstrous bitch. All they want is to kill and feed and indulge in their base appetites. Sure, some pretend to toe the line, but only ‘cause they’re afraid of being caught and punished, not ‘cause they have actual consciences or higher emotions.

“I didn’t do anything different than any other approved hunter in taking down _things_ that had hurt and killed real people—except that I didn’t waste time with the bureaucratic bullshit and executed ‘em like they all had coming to ‘em. Monsters don’t deserve the same legal protections we do or blowing taxpayers’ money on trials and prisons and crap like that—they just need to be put down like the rabid beasts that they are. So what I’ve done is a goddamn _service_ to everyone involved! And I expect enough right-minded people will realize this and throw this ridiculous case out before it gets too far. Dean can remain in state custody ‘til then, and then I can reclaim him fair and square.” John leaned back and crossed his arms confidently.

“No further questions, Your Honor.” Krause sat down, looking significantly less pleased than his client.

Balthazar walked up to the podium and eyed the defendant skeptically. “Right, let’s try to get some of this nonsense straightened out. Since you were apparently too drunk that night to see or think clearly, given that the fairly exhaustive investigation performed by trained professionals from three different law enforcement agencies found absolutely no evidence that a Prince of Hell had been involved in any of the murders _and_ showed that the only blood discovered in or even near the crib belonged to Mary Winchester, your feeble mind apparently came up with this ridiculous conspiracy theory, which includes claiming that you spent years starving your own son, addicting him to drugs, and beating him to the point of needing professional medical attention on at least nine separate occasions, supposedly purely for his own good. However, since most of us aren’t gullible enough to fall for such idiocy, isn’t the true story that you’re simply an abusive alcoholic with anger management issues who’s chosen to blame an innocent child for his mate’s senseless death instead of accepting reality?”

John visibly bristled at that. “Listen here, asshole! I won’t deny that I’ve got a temper or that I’ve used booze to drown out the pain sometimes—who wouldn’t if they had to live through the kinda shit I’ve dealt with? But I _know_ what I saw that night, and someone like you using their fancyass law degree to try to twist my words ain’t gonna change that! Yeah, Mary would still be alive today if it wasn’t for Dean, and sue me if I succumbed to human fucking weakness and resented the kid for it! But what it came down to, above and beyond whatever my personal feelings were, was that I had to make the hard decision to do what was best to protect him _and_ the rest of the world from the demon’s machinations!”

“Really? And did ‘doing it for his own good’ and ‘saving the world’ somehow include pimping your own son out for the past eight years?” Balthazar asked sarcastically, his brows raised.

“Okay, that I admit I did ‘cause I needed the money, since I was disbarred from legit hunting and hustling pool or cards ain’t always reliable,” John replied with a shrug. “But I’m well within my goddamn rights to do so! God made omegas to _serve_ us alphas, to do whatever we require of ‘em in order to prosper. Even in this hippie-dippy age, the law makes oms property that only we alphas can own, so that they can do their duty by us. Now I couldn’t just sell the boy off, even though his looks woulda fetched a price that coulda had me set for years, because I couldn’t risk his new master being too soft on him, like how Sam was. But since there’s always plenty of alphas who can’t afford a bitch of their own, not to mention plenty of alpha wannabes wanting a chance to feel big, I instead sold his services whenever I needed the cash—which you could consider him paying me back for raising him and keeping him safe.”

“You claim to have loved your mate, and presumably you didn’t behave toward her like how you treated your own son, since there were no complaints recorded before her death. Tell me, how would you have responded if some alpha had done these terrible things to _her_ , such as deliberately keeping her underweight on substandard kibble, leaving her chained up in closets, bathrooms, or his vehicle, doping her up and punishing her with withdrawal, whipping, punching, kicking, and otherwise assaulting her, and whoring her out to other despicable bastards to be raped and further abused—not to mention using her degradation as a source of sexual gratification? For that matter, how do you think _she_ would feel if she knew what you did to her child, to the baby she loved enough to give up her own life for?” our attorney demanded, looking thoroughly disgusted.

John spluttered incoherently before falling silent, his face flushed with anger or perhaps even shame.

“No glib response, no self-serving comeback? I didn’t think so,” Balthazar said with a derisive snort. “I’m not going to bother touching your utterly absurd statements trying to justify your bigotry and vigilantism, despite over a century’s worth of laws and court rulings to the contrary, since the U.S. Attorney and the several truckloads of evidence against you will take care of all that in your criminal trial. For the purposes of _this_ hearing though, on the extremely miniscule chance that you’re not convicted and sent to prison for the rest of your sorry life and instead regain custody of Dean, do you plan to change your behavior, to learn the error of your ways and do better by your son?”

John looked back at him impassively. “Why should I? I haven’t done nothing wrong.”

Balthazar turned to the judge and spread his hands. “Well, there you have it! Not much else that needs to be said on the matter, is there?”

“Mr. Krause, do you have any other witnesses to call?” Judge Myers asked.

The public defender stood with a sigh. “No, Your Honor.”

“I see no need for closing arguments, since as Mr. Benelohim said in the beginning, the testimony and evidence that’s been provided amply speaks for itself,” the judge announced once both Balthazar and John had gone back to their seats. “Nor do I see the need to waste time in unnecessary deliberations before giving my verdict.

“As anyone familiar with this particular courtroom knows, I don’t hold with these radical notions of omega equality or liberation or such. Alphas were created to be leaders over other men, to fight against the dangers in the night mankind faced. Omegas were later created to serve alphas, to ease the harshness of their lives and ensure their bloodlines remained strong and pure. Thus omegas’ lesser place in our society reflects God’s plan for them.

“However, ‘with great power comes great responsibility,’ as you young kids like to quote. Alphas were made not only to rule but also to protect those under them, particularly those who cannot defend themselves. Our laws have reflected this for several decades now, giving alphas the duty to care properly for the omegas they have the privilege of owning. Without this sort of obligation, our place at the top becomes tyranny instead of justice.

“It is quite apparent that the defendant fails to understand this important distinction and likewise shows no interest in learning to live up to it. Between Samuel Winchester’s potentially too-liberal attitude or John Winchester’s clear history of multiple forms of abuse _and_ equally clear intent to continue said abuse if given the opportunity, both the law and my conscience leave only one choice. 

“Therefore it is this court’s ruling that all custodial rights for John Winchester over the omega in question be terminated, and sole guardianship be granted to Samuel Winchester instead, retroactively effective from the date of the senior Winchester’s arrest. In addition, the court is issuing a final protective order of continuous duration against John Winchester, prohibiting him from abusing, sexually assaulting, threatening, harassing, or otherwise interfering with the omega Dean or with Samuel Winchester, from having any contact with either Dean or Samuel by any means, and from approaching the current place of residence or business for either Dean or Samuel. This order includes forbidding John Winchester from acquiring custody of any other omega in the future until he has successfully completed domestic abuse mental health treatment and has been certified as a fit guardian by a licensed psychiatric professional. This hearing is adjourned!” Judge Myers banged his gavel three times, rose, and returned to his chambers.

I stood as well, helped Dean to his feet, and pulled him into my arms. “It’s officially over, Dee! That asshole is _never_ hurting you again!”

He hugged me back tightly, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “Damn, I dunno what to even say, Sammy! I’ll be glad to never hafta see _his_ fucking face again after today!”

“That went quite well, yes? I do see what you meant about the old man—he’s cleverer than I expected,” Balthazar commented, nodding over to where John was being led out by Henriksen and two other agents. “I suspect he might be angling for support from the human supremacist fringe, in addition to going for the insanity defense. But that’s not our concern at the moment—that particular mess will be the U.S. Attorney’s problem! What’s next for you two?”

“Once we get the paperwork squared away, I guess we’ll go back to the hotel to decompress and relax, then pack everything up to hit the road later today or tomorrow morning,” I replied.

“Not going to fly back? It’s a rather long trip by car, from what I understand.”

I shook my head. “Dean doesn’t like flying, and besides the omega compartments on most planes are pretty barbaric. We’re in no rush, so the drive back to San Francisco shouldn’t be a big deal if we take it easy.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll touch base with Castiel later to see how you’re doing. It was a pleasure working with both of you.” He held out his hand.

I shook it warmly. “I can’t thank you enough for helping us! It’s a huge weight off our shoulders knowing John no longer has any claim on Dean, not to mention having the protective order against him.”

“Me too, man,” Dean added, shaking his hand also. “After all the shit from the past ten years—hell, from when Mom died ‘til now—it’s fucking amazing to know he’s outta our lives for good!”

“Well, glad to do my part, and best of luck to you both.” Balthazar nodded and turned to the paralegals who were packing up the remaining documentation.

After checking with the bailiff, who instructed us to go to the clerk’s office to get the required paperwork taken care of, we left the courtroom. Outside we found Victor and Garth waiting for us, though there was no sign of John or the other agents.

“Hey there! Don’t worry, the old bastard is on his way back to his cell at the Federal Transfer Center,” Henriksen said, noticing both of us looking around in concern. “I stayed behind to congratulate you on a job well done. It’s gotta be a huge relief to have the court rule in your favor today!”

“It is, and we couldn’t have done it without your help! I’m in your debt, and if there’s anything I can do, just let me know,” I told him. I turned to Garth and added, “You too, man! I couldn’t have gotten Dean back safely if it wasn’t for what you did.”

“We should be good for the arraignment and eventual trial. Since you weren’t a direct witness to any of John’s crimes, it’s not likely we’ll need to call you up. And this hearing was more useful than I expected, since it’s given us insights into what he might pull for his defense. Do you plan to come back for the trial, wherever the court decides to hold it?” Victor asked.

“If you don’t need me to testify, then probably not,” I admitted. “I don’t really care what happens to _him_ as long as he can’t hurt either of us or anyone else again. I trust that you’ll make sure he never gets out, so I’m perfectly happy to not have to set eyes on him ever again.”

“I’m glad I was able to help you guys out! What that douchebag was doing just wasn’t right, and it’s up to decent dudes like us to step up and do what we can to stop it,” Garth said, then looked at my brother earnestly. “Dean, you oughta know that I think you’re one of the strongest people I’ve met. What I saw being done to you was awful enough, and what I heard today was even worse, but you survived all that bad shit and never gave in. You got a lot to work through, and it won’t be easy, but you should be proud of yourself for that!”

Henriksen nodded. “I second that! Most folk I know, even big, tough alphas like me, would’ve broken to pieces under the heinous crap that motherfucker put you through. Seeing how much you’ve bounced back already and how well you handled yourself today, not letting that sonofabitch get you, ain’t something to sneeze at. You two drop me a line when you get back to San Fran to let me know how you’re doing, and I’ll send word of any major developments in the case against the asshole.”

“I wanna thank you both too. Sammy woulda had a much harder time finding me if it wasn’t for you helping him out,” Dean put in, holding my hand tightly. “If you’re ever in our area, please come by to see us so we can show our appreciation properly.”

Once we bid our farewells, which included big hugs from Garth for everyone, we made our way to the county clerk’s office on the second floor, where someone from the Family Department processed the custody transfer, which included issuing new ownership documents and updating Dean’s microchip. I also received a true copy of the protective order and instructions on how to file it once we returned to California. We then walked over to a local restaurant, where we celebrated with candied pork belly, bison burgers, and bottles of ginger beer.

Back at the hotel, Dean dove into his pile of pillows and blankets on the sofa before looking up at me. “So what _are_ we gonna do with ourselves for the rest of the day, ‘cause packing up our shit ain’t gonna take all that long?”

I shrugged. “If you don’t want to just chill out here, we could maybe visit some sights here in Tulsa, as long as you’re feeling up to it. Or . . . we can leave early and get a few hours on the road.”

He thought for a few minutes. “Heading out today sounds good. The sooner we get as far away as possible from _him_ the better, as far as I’m concerned. Plus I’ve been looking forward to finally seeing your house—though not so much the longass drive to get there!”

I sat down next to him and pulled him into another hug. “It’s _our_ house, and hopefully this will be the last road trip we have to take for a while, at least until we decide to go somewhere for a vacation. Come on then, those bags won’t pack themselves!”

Dean first changed into a pair of embroidered jeans and a Princess Leia t-shirt, and then we packed our various belongings, with my brother looking pleased at having new luggage instead of the worn duffel bags from our childhood. I also made a few calls to pass the good news on to our family and friends. We stayed a little longer so that he could watch the latest episode of his favorite telenovela while we finished off the remaining leftovers in the fridge. Finally we gathered our bags and left the room for the last time.

“You know, I’m gonna miss it here—this room was the first place I’ve had any good memories in a helluva long time!” he commented as we headed toward the elevator.

“I get how you feel, kiddo. The worst period of our lives ended and better times for both of us began here, so this hotel and Tulsa in general will have a special place in my heart too.” I put up a hand to squeeze his shoulder.

While waiting in the lobby for the valet to bring our rental around, Dean went up to the concierge desk and handed over a folded piece of hotel stationary. “Could you please pass this on to the other concierges who work here and the manager? I wanna thank all of you for everything you did for me and Sam while we’ve been here—you went above and beyond to help us out.”

The woman behind the desk, who was the same one on duty when we’d checked in, smiled. “It was our pleasure, dear! I’m glad to see you looking so much better than when you first arrived.”

Our SUV pulled up shortly, and the bellhop assisted in loading our bags. Dean eagerly climbed into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. I took one last look at the Ambassador Hotel before walking around to the other side of the vehicle and getting in.

“Are you ready, Dee?” I asked, reaching a hand out.

My little brother gripped it tightly, his smile wide and his eyes brilliant. “Yeah, Sammy. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND we're finally done with the first part of this story! I wanted to post this last week, but I've been recovering from the flu (regular flu, not COVID) and so wasn't able to brain too well for a little while. I was able to complete the last edits in the past couple of days though, so here we are.
> 
> This version of John Winchester was influenced by a couple of things. The first was the line in 1.14 Nightmare, where Sam says about John, "Well, it could've gone a whole other way after Mom. A little more tequila and a little less demon hunting, and we would've had Max's childhood." The other was a fanfic I read a few years ago, set in an AU where the supernatural doesn't exist and Mary was killed by an ordinary criminal, in which John had a psychotic break and believed the killer was a demon, and further that the "demon" had tainted Dean because his blood got in the boy's mouth during the murder; John then spent the next couple decades hunting "monsters" and also physically and sexually abusing Dean "for his own good" to control the "demonic corruption," and both Sam and Dean went along with all this because they didn't know any better (i.e. classic Stockholm syndrome). Both made me think about what could John have been like if the loss of Mary pushed him too far, if the drinking and mental trauma made him lose touch with reality? Thus in this story his damaged psyche came up with the big demonic conspiracy theory and used both Dean and the supernatural as scapegoats rather than accept the truth, sending him down the path we've seen. At the same time, he's cunning enough to not only be aware that everyone else thinks he's crazy but also to use that to his benefit as a defense for his crimes. (This version of Sam fortunately didn't buy into his delusions both because his position as the elder brother made him more protective of Dean and because his exposure to other people allowed him to realize early on that something was wrong with John's views.)
> 
> The next story will pick up with the brothers returning to San Francisco and seeing how Dean recovers and how their relationship develops. It may be a while before that story will start to update however, since I think it'll be best to wait until the story is finished or nearly finished before posting to avoid the long hiatuses that plagued this one. If you'd like to be notified when the next story starts, I recommend subscribing to the series. I do have a number of other completed stories as well, including some more A/B/O, if you're interested in checking out more of my writing. As always, constructive criticism is welcome, and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


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